The convent was their last unused safe house. The only place they could be sure was secure. The sun was high overhead when Ada arrived, giving the sandstone a peaceful, honey-coloured glow. Camille was pacing the length of a cloister, in her blood-encrusted clothes. Al had found an upturned crate to sit on, looking pale and shaken, Guil was calmly reading a news-sheet.

Ada crossed the overgrown garden almost at a run, and grabbed Camille, kissing her as if she’d never stop. Camille said nothing, just held her close and kissed her back.

When they parted, Ada rounded on Al.

‘Don’t you ever make us have to do that again,’ she snapped. Then flung her arms around him and squeezed him in a tight hug.

When she pulled back, Al look startled, but quickly recovered, straightening his borrowed clothes.

‘I assure you it wasn’t my idea of a good time.’

‘I came for you, didn’t I? Will you believe me now?’ Camille asked almost softly.

Al looked between the three of them. ‘Your plans are really, incredibly terrible, I want you to know that.’

A grin spread across Ada’s face as she unpinned her hat. ‘That was quite fun, wasn’t it? Horrible and scary, but quite fun.’

‘I do miss some of our … wilder escapades,’ agreed Guil.

Al looked at them in horror. ‘You’re all mad. Wait – where are the other two? The Englishman and the science project?’

Camille folded her arms, her mouth a tight line. Then, haltingly, she spoke, summarising what had happened with James for Al, and Ada added in her own details of her time with the duc. When they were done, Al let out a low whistle.

‘That lying bastard. I knew I didn’t like him.’

Ada rolled her eyes. ‘You never suspected a thing. None of us did.’

‘He was good. He played us all.’

‘Poor Olympe,’ said Guil quietly.

Al tilted the bicorn at a rakish angle. ‘Not to hog the pity party, but what are we going to do about me?’

Ada blinked. ‘About you?’

‘He’s right,’ said Camille. ‘Al can’t stay in Paris. He won’t be safe anywhere in France. They’ll know it was us who got him out.’

Some of Ada’s elation faded. There was always the next job, the next problem to solve.

‘Al, how’s your English?’ asked Camille.

‘That depends on whether you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking.’

Camille looked at him. ‘Staying here’s no better plan.’

‘But why that? Why can’t I go somewhere warm and pleasant? I hear Italy is lovely.’

‘His English is quite fluent,’ added Guil. ‘I’ve heard it.’

‘Sorry,’ cut in Ada, ‘what are you talking about?’

Al pulled his hat down so it was almost covering his eyes. ‘She’s sending me to England after our deceitful friend.’