Page 78 of The Spy and the Nightingale
Satisfied, Miss Muir allowed Pereira todirect her down the boulevard.
Nate scanned the square. The crowd, which had dispersed to the boulevard’s margins, was returning to gawk. A man was making for him. Casually he transferred the loaded rifle to his left hand, freeing his right for the knife sheathed at his back.
“That was some right proper shooting, rescuing the gel like that!” the man exclaimed in a hearty, English-bred, aristocratic voice. “I can’t recall when last I witnessed the like.” The man made as though to clap him on the shoulder but was warned off by something in Nate’s expression. The man backed away, holding his hands palm up.
Annoyed, he knocked the powder from the pan before another idiot caused an accident. Further down the boulevard the slanting sunlight kissed a flash of primrose: Quinn handing Miss Muir up into the fiacre as Pereira mounted the driver’s perch.
Miss Muir was safe.
“Iwill not be so foolish as to tell you not to pace about.” Amélie’s eyes were kind. “I would offer you to play cards, but I do not think you will accept this. Would you prefer to be alone with your thoughts?”
Isobel tried to smile. “I do not know, truly. I... My mind will not settle.”
“This I understand. If there is anything I may do for you, you have only to ask. I will otherwise not intrude upon you.” Amélie seated herself at her embroidery frame. “I must attend at times this evening to the business of L’Orchidée, but I will bear you company in the meantime.”
Shadows lengthened. Daylight disappeared. And at last, Nathaniel’s man Monroe arrived.
Amid the crowd of theatergoers seeking refreshments between acts, the maid in Cuvelier’s employ was successfully distractedlong enough for Pereira to aid Lucy. There was a spot of trouble outside the Théâtre de la Gaîté, but Lucy was well, Mr. Monroe assured her, as were Nathaniel and the others.
Lucy is safe.
Not long after, a note was delivered written in Lucy’s hand that confirmed it was so, ending withI will see you soon, Issy. Ilove you.
She surrendered to the unshed tears that had clogged her throat for the entirety of the long afternoon. Unlike those authored by grief that wracked her four days prior, these were primarily of relief. She would not rest easy until she had Lucy in her arms, but it was nearly over: anguished months of worries she’d tried so very hard to suppress, of abiding loneliness and fear.
She could never hope to repay her debt to Nathaniel and Amélie. Étienne Baudelaire as well and Pereira and Quinn and Monroe and whoever else she hadn’t met and never would. When she tried to express her gratitude to Amélie, words again failed her.
“This thank-you, it is not necessary between us.” Amélie clasped her hands. “I am happier for you than I can say, that this was for you the resolution and for your Lucy as well.”
“Yes, it is...” Fresh tears welled. “But now— I do not know how to tell her about Maman and Da. That must come soon.” She had not allowed herself to think so far ahead until now. “And I do not... She is... Neither of us is who we were before.”
“Oui,it will not be an easy time ahead for you and your sister. But I have the most strong belief that you will find your way. It has taken great strength, for the both of you, to do what you have. That strength, it will be there still as you face these difficult days ahead.” Amélie’s words, delivered in her calm and gentle tone, were steadying.
In some fundamental way, she no longer knew herself, could scarce reckon yet with all that had happened or the direction of her life moving forward. She’d learned herself capable of actionsshe’d never have dreamt possible. But, as Amélie had framed it recently, she hadsurvived.Too, she’d uncovered a depth of strength she’d not known was in her until the past months had demanded it.
She’d made difficult choices, leading her here, as Lucy undoubtedly had as well. They’d both come out on the other side of those choices not unchanged but, perhaps someday, forged into something even stronger.
Early, before any light yet pierced the sky, Nathaniel arrived at L’Orchidée with Mr. Quinn, to whom she’d already been introduced, and Mr. Pereira, who had met Lucy in the theater.
And Lucy.
The men were speaking to one another in low voices, but it barely registered; her focus was all for Lucy. Her sister looked infinitely weary, far older than her years, but no less wondrous for that. As in Le Repaire, they rushed to embrace. This time there was no reason at all not to cling, to weep on one another’s shoulders.
Lucy still wore sumptuous finery from the theater, but there were other clothes awaiting her at L’Orchidée. Amélie ensured they were both provided with plain clothing for travel, garments of rough fabric that wouldn’t stand out in any way.
When Lucy had shed her silk dress, she looked at it for a long moment. “Once I’d have adored a gown like this, but now—” With no warning, her hands moved violently opposite one another, rending the fine silk. Her sister laughed, although her tone contained little humor. “I suppose this was a waste of a fine dress. Even so, I cannot be sorry.”
She discarded several answering remarks before settling on asmall smile. She thought she understood what drove that action—or some of it, anyway—but there seemed nothing she might say in the moment.
They finished dressing in silence. Would it be thus between them now? Unfilled silences? She would need to learn her sister anew. Once, she might have read her sister’s face with ease, but no longer. Lucy was not a stranger—and yet she was.
Although she was too, to herself. She clung to Amélie’s assurance that they would find their way. Amélie too had reinvented herself, several times over. They could do likewise.
Once they were dressed, the men escorted them on foot through a series of ruelles to a wagon waiting near the Porte Saint-Denis. Mr. Quinn and Mr. Pereira both would escort them to Dieppe, and Mr. Quinn would cross with them to Brighton and see them safely onwards to London. Lucy climbed immediately aboard the wagon next to Mr. Quinn.
She lingered for a moment beside Nathaniel, strangely reluctant to follow her sister up.
He bent his head to her. “You’ve accomplished what you set out to do,” he said for her ears alone. “You have Lucy.”
