The other guard’s head peered around the edge of the great door, eyeing her with amusement. “Most don’t seek him out. If he needs you, he’ll find you, make no mistake.”

She threw back the hood of her cloak that had shrouded her face. “But I come on official business from England, as emissary from Prince George himself.”

They eyed her for a moment, hesitancy showing in their eyes, and then laughed in her face in great guffaws, spittle hitting her forehead. “In the middle of the night? With no carriage or anything to drop you off?” The first guard shewed her away with his hands. “Go back home to your mister.”

“Maybe she doesn’t have a mister. Is that it, miss? Hoping for a little attention this evening?”

Scarlet’s toes curled in disgust. She would get nowhere with these brutes. Realizing she had overestimated their innovative acuity, or even their base intelligence, she changed tactics, knowing she risked a night in uncomfortable circumstances, but it couldn’t be avoided.

The guards, leering, opened the door wider, beckoning for her to join them.

She straightened her spine. “No, gentlemen. I would not seek your company under any circumstances. Now, perhaps if you would tell Robespierre that the Seamstress has arrived, we can get somewhere with this.”

The nearest guard sharpened his gaze and grabbed her arm. “The Seamstress, you say? Are you her?” He shook her a little as he searched her face, his own menacing.

“As I said. Now, please unhand me.” She tried to peel his grip from her arm. “I’m here to speak with Robespierre.”

“Oh, you’ll see him, all right, on your way to the scaffolding outside.”

Their low laughter chilled her, but her courage burned brightly. “If you could just tell him that I am here . . .”

The guard pulled her in through the door, hand gripping her arm tighter. “We’ll tell him in the morning. First, it might do you some good to spend a night with the other aristo scum and traitors.” He dragged her behind him, deeper into the prison. “Because of you, I was sent to solitary with the rats! Thought you were so clever, turning in false names. Guards searching into the night for people who don’t exist.” He shook her arm and picked up the pace. “We’ll see how clever you are now, won’t we?”

They continued on a swift march through the many converging passages in the Bastille. Her arm bruised beneath his fingers, but she concentrated on moving her feet quickly enough under her skirts to keep up with him. She had not predicted such an angry reaction from the guards at the gate, and she hoped they wouldn’t forget about her in her cell for too long.