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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

She’d kept the pistol. That, and a locket of her mother’s, buried in the back of a drawer, was all she had left of them.

She couldn’t fail again.

She had to stand her ground too, and live.

‘We’re going to have to help this girl, aren’t we?’

‘Yes.’

‘Even if it puts us all in danger.’

‘Yes.’

‘Even if it’s stupid and risky and we’re wildly outgunned.’

‘Aren’t we always?’

The corner of her mouth twitched. ‘I suppose that is half the fun.’

‘We have things going for us. This duc has already underestimated us once. He believes we couldn’t possibly be cleverer than him. It is not a hopeless case.’

Her eyebrows furrowed. ‘Then why do I feel as if I’m inviting you all to climb into a pit of snakes.’

‘I like snakes.’

She laughed and Guil tipped her a wink as they started on the short walk back to the Au Petit Suisse.

Camille allowed herself one last stroke of the smooth wood of the pistol’s handle, before rolling her shoulders back and shaking off her funk.

If they were going to pull this off, she had no time for doubt.

4

The Parlour, Au Petit Suisse

Ada set to work cutting Olympe out of her dress. It was stiff with sweat and filth and she threw it straight on the fire. She’d left Al downstairs to wait for Camille and Guil’s return. Olympe was shivering, her shift still damp with muddy river water. Ada went through her dresses to find one she could lend to Olympe. She settled on an eggshell blue cotton morning dress that had seen better days. She didn’t want to insult Olympe, but also she couldn’t spare her finer gowns. Al called it vanity, but she knew clothes meant something. It was why anyone who wanted to avoid trouble wore a tricolore pinned to their hat; why peasant’s trousers were more popular than aristocratic breeches; why the silk trade was crumbling as the Revolution killed off extravagance. The right outfit was a ticket in when her face made people want to shut her out. It was a cover story that told itself, a weapon as potent as Camille’s pistol. A game that Ada intended to play well.

Olympe seemed happy enough with Ada’s choice. Anything must be better after being sewn into the same clothes for god knows how long. Ada had seen a ring of mottled bruises, like a chain, around the girl’s neck, and more on her bare arms, snaking under her chemise. However unnatural or dangerous she might seem, she was still a half-drowned girl rescued from a prison. Ada couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.