Then Claire used the fistful of the poor woman’s hair to yank her to her feet again. She forced her to walk forward through the revolutionaries. The merchants stepped closer, their faces menacing but also fearful. Claire let go of the woman and shoved her back toward the first man. “I’d better see red, white, and blue on you tomorrow.”

Ripping the gag from her mouth, the woman snarled, “Never,” looking much braver now that she was once again surrounded by her friends. “I’ll never join with the likes of you.”

More people poured out of the shops around them, wearing angry expressions, shouting. One sneered, “You’ll starve before we let you control our prices.”

“We’ll feed our bread to the pigs!”

The Republican Women of the Revolution pushed past Scarlet, rushing toward the merchants. As if a great switch snapped in two, they controlled themselves no longer. Nails were out and teeth bared, as they cut at, yanked, or pulled anyone close to them. Pauline ran nails down a woman’s arm, gleefully celebrating the blood that dripped. The merchants responded. In no way running from the violence, they reveled in the opportunity to inflict pain on their gruesome contenders.

Scarlet crept backward until she felt a wall behind her. She must leave the square as quickly as possible without anyone the wiser. She shook her head in disgust. The street had become a mass of human limbs grappling at each other, pulling at hair, kicking, flailing, biting to get at an opponent. Whistles sounded down the opposite alleyway. Could there still be an active police force here? Soldiers? She used the accompanying confusion to hide her escape.

As she ran down an alley, the tinkling sounds of glass breaking followed her. She wondered anew, as she did every time she entered France, how the situation could get any worse.

Chapter Eighteen

Scarlet immersed more completely into her new role as Renée. She finished tatting two more lace borders for gowns, both with fictional denouncements. The guards would never find these families, because they did not exist. The real families, whose names she had been given only days before, were safely on their way to England. If anyone investigated, they would discover that a break in the guards’ secrecy had occurred after the Seamstress delivered her stitches. Simon helped Renée cover her tracks.

Claire’s lovely blonde locks bounced in the Seamstress’s shop window. She bubbled more energy than usual, and Scarlet felt a bit of dread, bracing herself for whatever news would leave the woman’s lips.

“You are the most blessed of all revolutionaries, my dear! And blessed I am to be the one to bring you to light.”

Renée giggled. “Oh, Claire. You always have some grand thing to say. I am but a seamstress.” She gestured around her quiet room, piles of fabric and thread filling the corners.