How could she be careful when she did not know what would happen? She would have to walk to her death and hope that it would, at the very last moment, be averted. Each step toward the gallows would be a step toward a possible freedom—or toward a certain death. Camille couldn’t have admitted it to Sophie, or to Rosier. But she felt she could say it to this fierce girl who’d once stared death in the eye. “I’m frightened of tomorrow, Henriette.”
Henriette’s face softened. “Fear isn’t anything bad. Fear is what keeps a rabbit still when the fox comes, and fear is what tells it to run. It’s only a part of your own self, that wants to live. You can’t let it take over, but I know you won’t. You’re strong. Let that fear live inside you right along with your bravery.”
Camille exhaled. “I’ll try.”
“Good,” said Henriette simply. “I’ll go then.”
Camille caught hold of her coat. “Have you seen Giselle? The guards would tell me nothing.”
“I saw her an hour ago.” Henriette stared into the distance, the horror of the visit plain on her face. “She may have lost her wits. She only repeats that Odette betrayed us girls at Flotsam House, betrayed the revolution … and betrayed you. All she’ll say is that she’ll accompany you to the scaffold. I don’t think there’s anything else we can do.”
Wasn’t there? “One more thing—”
Henriette stopped. She seemed very small in the lightless courtyard.
“It isn’t much. You would have found out soon enough. My lawyer was instructed to tell you. Before I left the court, I made certain of it: I have given my house to all of you. It belongs to the Lost Girls now, each of you by name.”
“Your house?” Her mouth fell open in shock.
“If you don’t want it,” Camille said in a rush, “sell it and divide the money.”
Henriette laughed, gleefully as a small child. “Sell a house like that? Odette told us about it when she tried to convince us you were an evil magician. But all we could think of was the warm rooms and the feather beds, the cook, and a roof that doesn’t leak.” Wonderingly, she shook her head. “I can hardly believe it. Such a gift—thank you.”
Was that a tear in the forger’s eye? “It was never really mine, that house. Though in the end, I did love it. I hope you will be happy there.”
“More than happy. Au revoir, then, princess, and bonne chance.” Henriette gave Camille a secretive smile as she slowly crossed the prison yard. When she reached the ancient yew by the wall, she began to whistle.
* * *
In her cell that night, Camille carefully removed the object from her sleeve. It was a passport with a false name. She felt along the paper’s fold. A tiny bump, where something had been hidden. With her fingernail, she slit the back of it. Inside lay a tiny knife. A gift from sharp-eyed Claudine, she was certain. A blade like that could pick a lock. Or slice a rope.
So much would have to come together. And there would need to be magic of a kind she had never worked. But the girls, at least, believed in her to escape.
The rest of her thoughts were malevolent with shadows. Lazare caught or hurt, in hiding somewhere, Chandon and the others gone to ground while Sophie and Rosier prepared for whatever, be it freedom or be it death, that would happen tomorrow. The city she loved, the city she’d believed in, was a city turned inside out, its ugly seams showing. Its streets and alleys and innumerable rooms were thick with ghosts she could not bear to listen to. Broken-necked and bleeding. Swaying from trees and lampposts, slain in courtrooms. Each day there would be more, rising on cold and silent feet. Murders and executions, hatred and righteousness, and rivers of endless sorrow.
It was right that she was going. Wherever that might be.
For in Paris, there was nothing left but ruin.
53
The red tumbrel clattered over the cobblestones.
In it, six prisoners crowded together. Shoulder to shoulder, knees pushed against knees. As the low-slung cart lurched along, their heads bobbed grimly. Each sat with their hands in their lap, their wrists tied. Some women wore only their chemises, having sold their dresses for food while they were in prison. Others wore their brave and gaudy best.
Stuck between two women convicted of having more than one husband sat