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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

Sheet after sheet whipped through the presses. At the far end of the room was a tall, willowy white man with hair greying at the temple and his shirtsleeves rolled up. He leaned over a pamphlet that was spread out on a worktable, making corrections in pencil. A smudge of ink bore the trace of a thumbprint on his brow. Ada’s heart tightened with a sudden pang of nostalgia and loss.

She mounted the last few steps and passed between the machines to stop in front of him.

The man looked up, pencil dropping from his hand. ‘Adalaide!’

‘Hello, Papa.’

Her father came round the desk to fold her into a bony hug, then pulled back to look at her face.

‘I’ve missed you.’

Ada scrunched up her nose.

‘I’m busy.’

He spit-rubbed a smear of something off the corner of her jaw and turned to the door into the back office.

‘Come in, come in. Sit down.’

Inside the office, he cleared space on a rattan chair and sat on the desk next to a dented paperweight, bottles of ink samples and a well-chewed quill. He kept studying her as if she’d disappear if he didn’t memorise every last scrap of her appearance. As though it hadn’t only been a matter of weeks since she’d last made pilgrimage to his office.

‘Here, take a look at this,’ said her father. He passed her a freshly printed sheaf of papers waiting to be bound. ‘It’s the new play.’

‘I didn’t think you’d still be dabbling in the theatre after what happened with the last one.’

He smiled. ‘All press is good press.’

‘I thought it was more like a riot.’

‘A riot that got a lot of press coverage.’

She snorted. ‘The Revolution doesn’t just happen in pamphlets, you know.’

‘L’Ami d’Égalité is more than a pamphlet. Everything we publish is a voice of truth to the masses.’

‘Yes, Papa.’

He smiled again and reached over to straighten her collar. ‘I miss your conversation, Adalaide, but you must learn to listen politely. The world will never listen to a woman who speaks in angry tones, and certainly not to a—’

‘It’s no Molière,’ she said, dropping the pages back onto the desk. ‘I’m not sure Maman would have published something like this. Propaganda for the Terror.’