The wall behind her had kept her still and anchored as she’d watched him walk away in chains. Rushing to change costumes, she again silently thanked her modiste. Bless the woman. She should have run straightaway, through the outer courtyard door, but she’d had to peer out, had to see Matteo. After he had rounded the corner, she’d turned and run, exiting out onto the street soon after.

Once in that courtyard, it had been relatively easy to leave the prison. In the public parts of the edifice, many would not question the presence of a young lad, a street urchin or messenger. She had been blessed at Matteo’s arrival with his own guards so that she could slip away in the confusion, because leaving a locked cell—that was a near-impossible feat.

Still, she cursed Matteo. Now everything about Marie’s rescue must be rushed—Marie, who, with her daughter, stayed in an entirely different prison with much tighter security, La Conciergerie.

Its walls loomed above her now while she waited for the queen’s response.

And worse, she had to bribe the guard, a man she knew little about, to deliver the flower for her. Taking far too many risks, more than she ever took, Scarlet stood in the darkness, waiting for word. Movement drew her attention to the shadows. She crouched lower, holding her breath as a man tromped toward her, not hiding the sound of his boots on the pavement.

“Mademoiselle, she sent this out for you.” He held out a slip of paper.

“Thank you, Enzo. Here is another something for your troubles.” She offered a small bag of coins. “It means so much to have this last communication with my dear friend. Bless you for your kindness.” Scarlet lifted her veil and wiped a tear from her face.

Enzo stood up taller and said, “You are quite welcome. She’s a lovely lady, really. Kind to all the guards. If only she had lived a better life before now.”

Scarlet nodded. “Thank you again, dear Enzo, and for your service to France. I suspect I’ll come knocking shortly.”

Waiting until he tromped away again into the shadows, she unfolded her missive. Marie had responded with pin pokes in the parchment. Adjusting her location to a moonlit patch on the street, energy coursed through Scarlet at the words, “I’ll be ready.”

A great breath of relief lessoned her tension, and she rushed to put the rest of her plan in motion.

Fifteen minutes later, she rapped on the door to the tower prison, dressed in the deep gray color of mourning, large hoops holding out her voluminous skirts. A sheer veil covered her face.

The guard opened the small square hatch and asked, “What do you want?”