A sister cart journeyed in the opposite direction, Lord Courtenay at the reins. Until almost in unison, continuing far enough that they’d lost all stragglers, the donkeys stopped in two separate alleys. Their passengers dropped to the ground, arms shaking from the exertion of clinging to the axle underneath. The young boy pulled his mother to her feet, a victorious smile filling his face as he rushed to thank Lord Courtenay. Former prisoners, not quite free, rushed and huddled under the benches and seats of two waiting carriages.

Drivers urged the horses onward. Two entire families now moved in cramped, hidden safety away from the busiest crowds of Paris, out toward the barricades and the surrounding countryside.

Inside the carriage, Scarlet moved through her change of costume quickly as she shed evidence of the old woman. She hoped to never wear it again; any other disguise would be preferable to this one she had grown to loathe. While she worked, she slowed her breathing and tried to shed the evil feeling that always surrounded the guillotine. Too many weeks sitting at its feet wore at her. With a shudder, she applied a veil and black outer layers. New gloves covered her dirt-filled fingernails. She pulled the gray strands of her wig back into a knot at the base of her neck. Bits of her filthy costume, rolled tightly, fit in the valise at her feet. She sat atop hidden passengers—mother, father, and son concealed under the carriage benches. She drummed her fingers as they pulled closer to the exit at the east barricade. She worried for those trying to get past Bibot.

“Papers!” the man shouted.

Scarlet handed over her papers in silence, a breeze catching the lower edge of her veil, causing it to dance at her shoulders, but it did not rise to reveal her face.

The man looked them over. “Éléonore Duplay! I did not know. Forgive me. But of course you must go through, and at haste!” He waved frantically for the gate to be opened, and then he bowed low as Scarlet nodded her head in his direction. The carriage passed through the gate and made its way out across the countryside.

A rider approached the barricade, calling out, his voice reaching their carriage. “We have an urgent message from Place de Grève! All able citizens are needed. Two families of aristos have escaped in the very act of delivery to La Guillotine. You must go in pursuit, man! All of you!” The man waved his hand in a sweeping motion, and large numbers of them turned and rushed toward the center of Paris.

The rider’s shouts brought Scarlet’s heart into her throat. But Simon, her coachman, continued forward as if nothing were amiss. As soon as they were out of sight, the hatch from above opened, and he winked at her.