“Monsieur Marat. I’m delighted to have found you before the guard. The scholars at the university talk of nothing but how you have taken refuge with the fair Veronique and Le Bébé Américain,” Philippe said, tossing his gloves on the table. The legs were uneven, and the weight of the supple leather was enough to give it a perilous tilt.
“You have nothing to fear, Jean-Paul,” Marcus assured his friend. “Philippe is here to help.”
“I do not want his help,” Marat said, spitting on the floor in a show of bravado.
“And yet you will take it anyway,” Philippe said cheerfully. “You are going into exile, sir.”
“I am staying here. I am no peasant, bound to do his lord’s bidding,” Marat said with a sneer. “Paris needs me.”
“Alas, your actions have made it impossible for you to remain in the city, or even France, monsieur.” Philippe studied the dregs of wine in a pitcher and decided against it. “To London you will go. You will still have to hide, of course, but you will not be killed on sight as you will be if you step outside this door.”
“London?” Veronique looked from Marat to Marcus to Philippe and back to Marcus.
“At first,” Philippe replied. “Marcus will meet his father there. Matthew will take Monsieur Marat to the house of Mrs. Graham, a friend of Dr. Franklin who will be sympathetic to his revolutionary passions.”
“It is out of the question,” Veronique replied, her eyes sparking with displeasure. “Jean-Paul must remain in Paris. We are depending upon his vision, his sensibility.”
“Monsieur Marat may not be able to see very far from a prison cell—which is where he is headed if you persist in this madness,” said Philippe.
“This is Lafayette’s doing,” Marat snarled, his mouth contorted. “He is a traitor to the people.”
A sword appeared at Marat’s throat. Philippe was at the other end of it.
“Softly, Marat. Softly. The only things standing between you and utter oblivion are your friendship with Marcus and the marquis’s decision not to pursue you today because of it. Lafayette sent the guard scurrying in a different direction, even though he knew where you were and could have set his hounds upon you,” Philippe said.
Marat breathed heavily, his eyes lowered to watch the tip of the sword. He nodded. After a moment, Philippe withdrew his blade.
“You will all refrain from involving yourselves any further in the affairs of humans,” Philippe said, sheathing the sword. “If you persist, I will let the Congregation have their way with you. Their punishments are far less civilized than Dr. Guillotin’s methods of execution, I assure you.”
Marcus had only a dim knowledge of the Congregation and its tactics. The organization was terribly far away—in Venice—but Marcus had learned from his experiences with Philippe that a creature did not have to be close at hand to thwart your plans.
“The Congregation’s rules have little power over the creatures of Paris,” Veronique said. “Why shouldn’t we have a voice? Do we not have to live in this world the humans are making?”
“Pierre and Alain will see you to the coast,” Philippe continued, as if Veronique hadn’t spoken. “Be ready in an hour.”
“An hour?” Marat’s mouth dropped open. “But I must write to people. There is business—”
“Are you going with them, madame, or will you stay here?” Philippe was losing his temper, though no one who didn’t know him well would have recognized the signs: the slight hitch in his right shoulder, the flutter of the last finger on his left hand, the deepening crease at the corner of his mouth. “I am not sure if I can keep you from harm if you remain in Paris, but I will do my best.”
“So long as I behave like a good girl?” Veronique snorted at the impossibility of the notion.
“I am a practical man,” Philippe purred. “I would never be so foolhardy as to ask for the moon and stars.”
“Come with us, Veronique,” Marcus urged. “It won’t be for long.”
“No, Marcus. You may have to obey Philippe, but I am no de Clermont.” Veronique’s scornful glance at his grandfather made it clear what she thought of Marcus’s family. “Paris is my home. I rise and fall with her. My heart beats with hers. I will not go with you to London.”
“Think of what might happen if you stay,” Marcus pleaded, trying to reason with her.
“If you loved me, Marcus, you would be more concerned with what would happen to me if I go,” Veronique replied sadly.