Scarlet indicated Matteo should set her on her feet, and then her eyes searched the ground as, hair in her face, she hunched forward as if she had a bump on her back, a disfiguration. Her hands twisted in weird angles and her mouth hung open and to the side, as if she had not the ability to close it. She shuffled toward him with a twisted grimace, her tongue moving erratically in her mouth.

Robespierre stepped back in surprise. “Very well. Put them in one of our larger rooms for the night. We will take care of this in the morning.”

“But I had hoped—”

“Éléonore. You will come with me.”

She bowed her head; she was close enough that they could see the movement of her jaw as she ground her teeth. She looked from Scarlet to Robespierre and back, and then her face took on a calculating expression. “Of course, darling.” She waved her hand to the guards, who immediately began barking orders for the prisoners to stay together and follow them.

Matteo watched Scarlet in amazement. He hardly recognized her. She kept up her new charade, walking with a twisted limp and a hunched back until they were ushered into new accommodations.

Chapter Thirty-Two

“We have much to do before morning.” Simon leaned forward, speaking to Matteo and then Scarlet in turn.

She nodded slowly; Matteo reached for her hand.

“We will have a brief window of time in the courtyard while loading carts, to win our freedom.”

This time Matteo nodded.

Simon gripped his shoulder, as if trying to infuse him with energy.

A haze fell over Scarlet’s mind.

Simon eyed them both and then cleared his throat. “We must get a message to our men, those impersonating Éléonore’s guards, somewhere in the prison.”

Scarlet focused on him. “Yes. We must. We cannot leave without them.”

Simon eyed her.

She felt distant, uninvolved. Perhaps she still tried to shake the effects of her fever. She smiled weakly. “I guess we cannot wait for the Pimpernel to present himself . . .” Her laugh sounded fake, unconvincing, even to herself.

Simon’s eyes narrowed. “I would never want the Pimpernel to do such a terrible thing. What good would that do? We would all die anyway, and him along with us.”

Matteo interjected. “Do you not think he could negotiate for our lives before he dies?”

His question unnerved her. “Would you so casually toss his life aside?”

Simon smacked a hand on his thigh. “Robespierre does not negotiate. He barrels down everyone in his path, and if he could wipe out the Pimpernel and some of his accomplices all at once, more the better for him.” He turned his head so that his eyes were inches from Scarlet’s own. “Let us not give him that opportunity.”