“Oh, Claire, Claire,” she whispers into my neck. “What if we’re making things worse, so much worse?”
“We are making things worse,” I say fiercely. “This whole business is madness.” Then, in a rush, “If I could get enough money, for us to leave—”
There is a knock on the door, then it swings open. “Mémé’s changed the lantern to red,” Marie says. “And Turgot is already here. You’ll just have to wait your turn, Claire,” she adds, sniggering.
Isabella pulls away from me, wiping at her face; when she looks at me again I see not only sorrow and fear in her eyes but a hint of something else, something hard. “I will come to you after,” she says.
I will come to you. She has never spoken so before, she has never held me save after my first night. She had come to me after the man left, saying noth
