“What?” There was alarm in Chris’s voice.
I held a finger up to my lips. Pushing by him, I went up the first few rungs of the ladder and cautiously lifted the trapdoor an inch. The only sight I could see was the woman’s dog cowering under a chair. La Voisin was still shouting away out front, drowning out any noise I might make. And with any luck, the guard who had been out back would have gone round to assist. Lifting the trapdoor the rest of the way, I climbed out, holding it open for Chris. “This way,” I mouthed, pointing at the back door.
Luck was with us when I peeked out, as the tiny yard was devoid of life. We swiftly exited, and Chris grabbed hold of my wrist, dragging me toward the stone fence dividing the yard from the adjoining properties. “No,” I whispered, tugging free. “You can go, if you want. But I’m helping her.”
He swore quietly under his breath, but didn’t try to stop me as I squeezed through the narrow space between the witch’s shop and the boardinghouse next to it. The night was black as pitch; Pigalle was not graced with gas lamps to light its streets as the rest of Trianon was. I prayed it would be enough to hide me as I emerged from between the buildings. There were shockingly few onlookers on the street – no one was willing to fall afoul of the law – but I could see faces looking out from windows and entranceways.
Three uniformed guards were struggling with La Voisin, who was screaming like a banshee that she was falsely accused while clinging to the doorframe with one hand. Two of the young men struggling with her were strangers to me. One of them was not.
“Frédéric de Troyes,” I snarled, “I daresay, if our father saw you allowing a woman to be treated this way, he’d disown you and never look back.”
My brother twisted around to stare at me, his eyes wide with shock. “Cécile? Stones and sky, why are you here?”
“For tea.” I shot black glares at the two other men, and while they didn’t let go of the woman, they ceased their attempts to drag her off the door.
“Tea?” Fred’s voice was strangled. “In Pigalle? After dark?”
“A special tea,” I clarified. “That only she makes. And I’m here after dark because it was the only time Chris could bring me.”
Fred’s eyes flicked over my shoulder and latched onto Chris. “You better have a good explanation for this, Girard.”
I rolled my eyes and walked closer. “Oh, stop that and let the poor woman go. Mother will thrash me if I don’t bring back the tea to soothe her throat, and half a dozen of the dancers begged me to retrieve some ointment for their poor heels.”
“Go home, Cécile.” My brother’s cheeks were flushed red with anger. “Pigalle is no place for a girl like you. This woman has been accused of witchcraft and…”
“God in heaven,” I swore, cutting him off. “If she could fix all the ailments troubling the girls at the opera house with witchcraft, she’d be the richest woman in Trianon for it. But clearly not.” I gestured at the ramshackle buildings. “Let her go, Fred. This is nonsensical.”
“Who’s she?” one of the guards asked.
“My sister.”
A lascivious grin split the other man’s face. “Oh, the opera girl.”
I didn’t like the way he said it. Neither, apparently, did my brother. Snatching a fistful of the guard’s uniform, Fred dragged him forward until they were face to face. “Watch your mouth when you’re talking about my sister, you hear?” Then he shoved him away, and looked back at me.
He knew I was lying. He knew I wasn’t here for tea. But he wasn’t a fool, and there was no way he’d blunder forward without first discovering why I’d chosen to defend this woman. Trust me, I silently pleaded. Trust me this one time.
A scowl imprinted on his face, he jabbed a finger at La Voisin. “Last warning, woman. I hear another whisper that you’re dabbling in things you shouldn’t be, and your feet will be dangling above the fire. Understand?”
“Yes.” She gave me a long look before hurrying back into the shop.
“Meet me back at the barracks,” Fred ordered the other two men. Both drifted toward their horses, their brows furrowed and eyes full of questions. But they obeyed, and for the moment, nothing else mattered.
Fred stood stock-still, head lowered and eyes fixed on the muddy street. The muscles in his jaw were clenched tight, his hands balled up into fists. When the sound of hooves faded into the distance, he lifted his head. “You better have a good explanation for this.”
It was an effort to look him in the eye. “I need her help.”
He barked out a laugh. “Her help? Need a love potion? Your fortune read?” Taking hold of my shoulders, he shook me hard enough that my teeth rattled together. “Curses, Cécile, what’s wrong with you?”