“Qu'est-ce que vous avez dit?” the bored prostitute said, pushing away from the wall and sauntering toward the bars, glaring at Miss Sewett.
Either Miss Sewett didn’t speak French or thought the prostitute was beneath her. She turned back to the officer and said, “You will release Lord Reith, Lord Sinclair, Lord Gregory, Mr. and Miss McGovern and Miss Lafarge at once.”
Rather than scoffing or curling his lip, as he had done with the rest of them, the officer took a step back from Miss Sewett. “Madame, you have no part in this business.”
“I have every part in it,” Miss Sewett said, pursuing him as he inched down the hallway. “I am chaperone to the McGovern party, and I take my duties very seriously.”
Louis almost laughed at her statement. The moment was preposterous, and yet he had never been so glad to have the intervention of a termagant like Miss Sewett in his life.
“I have orders to deliver them to Monsieur Lafarge,” the officer stammered on, proving Louis’s worst suspicions.
“And who is he to me?” Miss Sewett demanded.
“He…he is a wealthy and powerful man,” the officer said, standing taller for a moment.
“Is he a nobleman?” Miss Sewett demanded. “Does he have the grace of God and the authority of the British crown behind him?” When the officer shook his head, she charged on with, “No? Then he is nothing compared to the august company you keep behind bars. You will release those whose freedom you have so scandalously stolen from them at once.”
“I cannot, madame. I will not.” The officer made one last attempt to hold his own.
“You can and you will,” Miss Sewett said, fixing him with a stare that would have withered a lesser man.
The officer looked as though he might soil himself, but he stood his ground, though he shook his head while doing so. As intimidated as he was, Louis didn’t hold out much hope that the officer would actually do what Miss Sewett demanded.
He was surprised when Miss Sewett broke her furious stare and stiff stance to let out an irritated breath and say, “Where is that man?”
Louis exchanged a baffled look with Solange across the hallway. Both of their attentions were diverted when Miss Sewett turned to face another commotion at the end of the hall.
“What has taken you so long?” Miss Sewett demanded, taking a few steps toward the door and slipping out of Louis’s view for a moment.
All of them trapped in the cells pressed up against the bars and turned to get a glimpse of the person who had entered the mad scene.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” a deep, distracted voice said. “I’m terribly sorry. There was some difficulty with the guards in the front.”
“No, you didn’t,” Marshall gasped, the first of their lot to see the man before he marched into view, facing down the officer.
Louis didn’t actually know the British ambassador to France, but he recognized Robert Bulwer-Lytton, Lord Lytton, on sight. The man’s bushy beard and curly hair were unmistakable, and his reputation was stellar. Though, at the moment, he looked as though Miss Sewett had yanked him out of a box at the opera and dragged him all the way to the prison by his ear.
“Monsieur l'ambassadeur,” the officer croaked, evidently knowing exactly who Lord Lytton was as well. “What an honor to have you visit my humble prison this evening.”
“Enough of that,” Lord Lytton snapped. “This woman has informed me that you are holding six British citizens, three of them lords, hostage.”
“I…that is…I was given orders….” The officer struggled and failed to explain himself.
“Foul play is at work here, my lord,” Miss Sewett explained to Lord Lytton, looking as regal as anyone there. “I do not know the source of it, but I do know that it is a travesty of justice and hierarchy for a peon such as this to act against peers.”
“Not to mention British subjects,” Lord Lytton added. He turned to the officer. “You will release them at once.”
For the first time since being rushed by policemen on the street outside of Solange’s cousin’s flat, Louis felt a spark of hope. Solange must have felt it too. She smiled across to him, looking as though they might just have a chance to be victorious after all.
“My lord,” the officer stammered, “I cannot simply let these people go. They are guilty of espionage, and I have been—”
“Where is your proof?” Lord Lytton asked, glowering at the officer. “I want to see a copy of the charges against them.”
“Well, I….” The officer went pale. Louis’s confidence that they were all about to get out of the situation increased. The man didn’t have any proof at all. He was only holding them on Lafarge’s orders, and at last, a force greater than Lafarge had arrived on the scene.
“Release them at once,” Lord Lytton repeated, “or I will have you brought before your own high court on charges of corruption and mismanagement. Do you think whoever put you up to this will come to your rescue then?”
The officer closed his gaping mouth and swallowed. “Relâchez-les,” he told one of his men standing at the far end of the hall in a hoarse voice.
The junior officer stepped forward, immediately unlocking the cell containing Louis and the others.
The moment the door swung free, Marshall bounded out into the hallway. “We need to return to the palace at once,” he said. “Evangeline and Roselyn have gone ahead with the ball designed to turn the tide against Lafarge, and I worry what might happen to them if they try to take him down on their own.”
Louis nodded in agreement as he crossed to take Solange into his arms as the junior officer opened her cell.
“The ball has already begun,” Miss Sewett informed them. “Even though I told Lady Evangeline and Lady Briarwood that it was not proper for the two of them to host a ball without proper preparation and planning.”
“We can reach the palace before things have gone too far,” Marshall said, speeding toward the exit, Dorothy, Damien, and Sebastian rushing after him.
Louis and Solange followed, but held back slightly. “We need to return to Grenelle first,” Solange insisted.
“What? We don’t have time,” Marshall said, glancing over his shoulder at her.
“There are things at the flat that we will need to bring Lafarge to justice,” Solange said.
Louis’s eyes snapped wide. In all the excitement of running from Lafarge, making love with Solange, and being thrown in prison, he had entirely forgotten the papers Solange had taken from her bodice and left on the counter in the kitchen. She had said they were enough to destroy Lafarge once and for all.
“We have to go,” Louis told Marshall as they sped through the prison’s front office and out into the fading light of evening. “Trust us. Lafarge cannot stand against what Solange found.”
Marshall glanced between the two of them as Damien hailed a cab. He must have seen how serious the situation was. He nodded, then dashed for the carriage that came to stop on the curb beside them. “Take this cab,” he said, then twisted to find Miss Sewett and Lord Lytton leaving the prison. “I trust we can take other conveyance to the palace.”
“I must return to my party,” Lord Lytton said, attempting to wave them off.