At the bottom of the stacks was an edition so old the paper was soft, dog-eared at the corners and tearing along the fold of the spine. She held it up to the light to see the date. 1786. Before they had left Martinique. Greedily she turned the pages, recognising it for what it was: the trial run her parents had created when the paper was a kernel of an idea, nurtured between the two of them over candle stubs and late-night conversation. There were only four pages in total, some reporting local news from Fort Royal, some giving notice of upcoming events and meetings. Then an essay from her father. Something aping the classics, a conversation between a student and teacher. Finally, on the back page, taking up the whole sheet, she found it. Her mother’s writing. The ink had bled, a fuzzy printing job to start, with some words running in to each other and misplaced letters making it hard to scan. But it was her mother’s voice. Clear, incisive, urgent.

Ada ran her fingers along the lines, imagining her mother writing it. Late at night, after Ada was in bed. Ink staining her nails, crumpled paper littering her desk. Never giving up.

A tear dropped onto the fragile paper, soaking through and making the ink run. She folded the paper and slipped it inside her dress, then dried her tears. Ada had tried to live a life of her own. She hadn’t failed – it had been real, every moment had been real with Camille. She belonged there because that was where she wanted to be. Her father had tried to wrest control from her, but she couldn’t let things end like this.

When her father came this time, he carried a far smaller tray with only a slice of buttered bread sitting directly on the metal. No plates to smash.

He held it out to her, and she took it, calling on every bit of her willpower to eat the bread and not throw it at his head. She needed her strength.

‘Are we calmer today?’

She nodded.

‘I’m afraid I’ve come with upsetting news. A member of your battalion, Aloysius, was arrested and sentenced to execution. In fact, he’s due at the guillotine tomorrow.’

The food turned to lead in her stomach. ‘What? Why?’ But she knew why. The warrant out on his family had included him. His past had finally caught up with him.

‘I don’t tell you this to hurt you, but to show you who this government is. You and I both know that boy had nothing to do with his family’s crimes against the people. You see now why I have to do whatever it takes to keep you safe from this madness?’

She buried her face in her hands and let a sob overwhelm her. The bed dipped and then she felt her father’s warm hand on her back.