Smell. The first sense to completely overload as she stepped into the square. Rotten female sweat and filthy body neglect overpowered the small breeze that tried to clean the air. Knotted hair and torn clothing found every available stone as they all sat facing a platform at the head of the contained space.

Claire grabbed hands of jeering women as she passed, gesturing in greeting to the crowd who welcomed her. Scarlet’s face showed wonder as she waved shyly to a few women. Inside, she wanted to vomit in disgust. These were the women running this society? Most sat indecently, skirts falling up above their knees. They called to one another and picked at their stained teeth. More than one bit blackened fingernails while cackling some story to the woman at her side.

Scarlet pulled at her blonde braids. The wig was all but glued to her head, and she felt confident it would stay. Several dirt-smudged faces eyed her with disdain. If she had come alone, she was certain these women would not have borne her presence for long. Her costume was neat and comely, her stitches were precise, and her steps were careful. She was the Seamstress.

Of all the factions warring to rule France, Claire Lacombe, Pauline Léon, and the Society of Revolutionary Republican Women placed their hopes and allegiance with the Jacobins: those aligned with Robespierre and Saint-Just on the Committee of Public Safety. However, most shop owners remained unsympathetic to the Jacobin Republic. And they did not agree with these women’s goals or aims. Scarlet supposed their very presentation disgusted the more well-to-do shop owners, and Claire’s women resented their snobbery. A strong antagonism had developed between the groups.

The new identity as Seamstress helped Scarlet communicate with both, because she could mingle with the merchants as a merchant herself and also trail after Claire, and no one would question or suspect that she belonged with neither group.

They didn’t know it yet, but the shop owners’ lives were at risk. The tide of goodwill would shift, and they would be denounced. One of her more important rescues, everything needed to play out just right. Scarlet could allow herself no missteps.

Eyes alight with expectation and just a bit of hero-worship, she picked up her pace as they neared the front of the platform where she assumed they would meet Pauline Léon, the cofounder of their group.

Scarlet almost stopped walking when a woman on the stand turned to face them. Where Claire was light, she was dark. Where Claire gave off energy, she sucked it in. Her eyes looked like holes, pits into an abyss that held her soul. Scarlet stopped a shiver and pretended to be unaffected.