Scarlet by Jen Geigle Johnson

Author:Jen Geigle Johnson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Scarlet Pimpernell;Paris;Reign of Terror;French Revolution;Marie Antoinette;Guillotine;dead;death;beheaded;French;France;England;rescue;romance;love;historical romance;regency;aristocrats;secret identity;hero;London;bravery
Publisher: Covenant Communications, Inc.
Published: 2018-01-12T22:39:14+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Paris, France

The effort to block all thought of Matteo from her mind exhausted her far less as soon as she donned her new costume and began life as Renée Moreau the Seamstress.

Claire Lacombe, noted founder of the Society of Revolutionary Republican Women, fingered Scarlet’s fine lace. “Amazing. So intricate. A name is written right there, clear as day, but you can’t see the pattern unless you know exactly what to look for.” She reached her hand out to grasp Scarlet’s in her own. “Come to our meeting this afternoon. Pauline Léon needs to meet you and see your talents.”

An odd sort of gratitude reminded her of her mother’s patience in insisting Scarlet become proficient at needlepoint and tatting lace. The irony of its current use almost brought a smile to her face. “I do hope it will help. I thought of the idea watching those knitting women by the guillotine.” She created a look of shy humility. “Thank you, Mademoiselle Lacombe. To think I will be assisting you, a famous actress, in this great Revolution.” She squeezed Claire’s hand in her own.

“Please, call me Claire. We are to be sisters in arms, after all.” Claire held tight to her hand in return. “You’ve come at the perfect time. We are running out of ways to communicate our denouncements. The infernal Pimpernel seems to get wind of half of them.” Claire shook her head in disgust. “We must prove to Robespierre that women have a place in the new society. We are a force that cannot be denied. The more we denounce, the more we prove to him our loyalty.” A feverish excitement flashed through her eyes, and her skin flushed.

Scarlet inwardly cringed in disgust. Was everyone in France in a crazed, bloodthirsty frenzy? She swallowed a hint of apprehension that tried to build a lump in her throat. “Where shall I meet you?”

***

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.

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