Page 89 of Souvenir Heart

“It leads to a quarry. We’ve got lanterns there, bedding and other supplies. Plenty of space to move about there. Indeed, you don’t want to wander about too much; you might get lost.”

Their voices were becoming muffled, but he heard Andre say, “Marcus has reviewed the maps, has an amazing memory for that sort of thing.”

He took a step forward; he did indeed have a too perfect picture of what lay ahead in his mind, from the height of the tunnel in most places—roughly six feet high, to the width, roughly three feet wide, and a narrow twist they would have to crawl through on their hands and knees. But if he continued to hesitate, he’d be left to follow with only his single flickering lantern to light the way.

Taking a deep breath, he ducked and entered. The earthy odors of rock dust, metal and mold filled his nose and mouth.

Andre’s voice floated back through the darkness. “You don’t have any problems with the dark or close spaces, do you, Madame de Rouvroy?”

“Bit late to ask, don’t you think?” Marcus gasped, catching up with them.

“So long as it’s not a prison cell, I can bear it.”

If she could, he would. Marcus kept moving forward, his eyes fixed on the light of their lanterns; it danced across the earthen walls and ceilings. Like flames in hell.

“Is it safe?” Marguerite asked. “The roof and walls, I mean. No chance of a cave-in?”

Mountains of rock and earth suddenly giving way. Crushing them in an instant. Burying them in the darkness. His chest and lungs felt as if it was already happening.

“When David and I explored it, we didn’t see any recent signs of shifting. And you’ll find that the quarries are shored up with massive pillars of stone—the quarry men dug around them, so it’s not like they’re unstable piles of rock.”

“Safe, quiet, and doesn’t smell like offal. I’d say it’s a definite improvement over the Conciergerie...”

Marcus followed the sound of her voice, like a silver thread in the twisting darkness.

“It’s a good thing dark spaces don’t bother you,” Andre’s voice floated back, “because Marcus hates ‘em.”

Marcus started, striking his head. He touched his fingers to the throbbing spot and felt the stickiness of blood. Why on earth had Andre told her that?

“Given what I’ve seen of you all thus far, I wouldn’t have thought there’d be much that frightens any of you…”

“Fear makes a man cautious.” Marcus said tersely. “Caution keeps him alive.”

“And yet, too much caution can keep you from really living,” Marguerite said. “Or at least, it has in my case. I had a lot of time to think in that awful place. I realized I’d wasted so much time worrying about what would happen if I acted too soon, stepped wrong, made a mistake. Doing nothing. And then, suddenly, there was no time left to do anything.”

“You made art…incredible art.”

“Which no one will ever see. Maybe if I’d started sooner, worked harder, hadn’t listened to my father and my husband saying it was a frivolous waste…”

He opened his mouth to tell her that her paintings weren’t gone. At least not the three pieces she’d prepared for the Louvre salon, but she was continuing to speak. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t make that mistake again. Caution can go to hell.” She lifted the hem of her skirt scrambling over a pile of rubble. Rocks scattered around her.

Marcus scrambled after her.

“To be fair,” Andre said as the tunnel turned sharply. “Marcus’s caution has saved our necks more times than I can count. Never seen him hesitate when action is required.”

“Is that why he took up my father’s offer for his services?”

Marcus rubbed his smarting scalp, reminding himself that this was what he wanted. For her to trust his skills, but to keep him at the distance he couldn’t seem to maintain.

“He was the first to step forward,” Andre said, “when your father begged for someone to go back for his only child.”

What game was he playing at? Was he trying to convince Marguerite she wasn’t being left alone with the Butcher of Rouen? Or that the Butcher had a heart?

“Still,” Andre continued, after they’d turned their bodies sideways, edging through a particularly narrow passage. “I suspect you and I would both be leery of dark spaces if we’d had the misfortune to be buried alive…”

Marcus stopped, his head spinning not only with the shock of Andre’s casual betrayal, but with the memory his words provoked. Damp earth on his face, in his eyes, in his mouth when he opened it to scream.

“Buried alive?” Marguerite turned to look at him, her lantern raised as if searching for the truth of Andre’s words in his face.