Free The Silver Blade by Sally Gardner

it could be used in evidence as proof that he was a counter-revolutionary or a spy. Isn’t that dreadful?’ She paused. ‘Anyway, your uncle tells me that his role as Harlequin attracts quite enough letters from ardent young ladies.’

    The very idea that she would be just one of Yann’s many doting admirers appalled Sido. Mortified, she said, ‘It is only that I have known him for some time.’

    Juliette smiled. ‘Of course, ma cherie . He must seem like a hero to you. But believe me when I say he would understand. I’m sure there are many young women in Paris bewitched by those dark eyes of his, don’t you think?’

    Sido wished the floor would open and swallow her whole. Was she another silly little girl, infatuated by a young man who had taken the liberty of stealing her heart and kissing her for it? She put the letter in the fire, watching it burn.

    ‘It is for the best,’ said her aunt.

    S ido’s spirits over that first long, dull winter in London had been very low indeed. She did all that was required of her, but with little enthusiasm. She felt dead inside, a terrible melancholy hung over her like a London fog that nothing could lift. She was haunted by nightmares of Kalliovski, of his beetle-black carriage.

    In these dreams she knows she is to be the Count’s bride. She is in a huge domed chamber in which stands a macabre altar made from the dismembered bodies of the victims of the Abbaye massacre, their limbs protruding, their hands moving, their fingers twitching, blood dripping on to the floor. In front of the altar stand seven women, screaming through sewn-up lips:

    ‘Calico and corpses.

    ‘Damask and death.’

    Kalliovski turns his waxen face to Sido, his red lips a wound. ‘Don’t let the blood stain your white, white dress, my dear.’

    Every time she would wake, terrified, shaking, and light all the candles in the room.

    Often she wouldn’t sleep for fear of the nightmare. On those nights she would sit looking into the fire, her knees pulled up under her chin, her arms wrapped around her legs and think, what if she never saw Yann again? What then was the point to living? So much had happened since the time she had first woken to see him standing by her bed. The only consistent thing in her life, which had never failed her, was Yann. No one in London understood her. She was treated like a china doll, to be worshipped like a goddess, as one handsome dandy told her.

    Concerned for her health, Juliette and Henry sought advice from the best doctors in London. All agreed that news of what was happening in France was to be kept to a minimum. Henry believed this to be balderdash. Sido possessed far too lively a mind to be unaware of events in Paris and it would be near impossible to spare her from such conversations as they had an open house for emigres three times a week. At these gatherings Sido’s spirits would perceptibly rise, especially when the Silver Blade was mentioned, as if instinctively she knew who they were talking about. Henry’s diagnosis was altogether more astute. The real reason for Sido’s unhappiness was her longing for Yann, but on that subject it was impossible to speak. It had been Yann’s decision that Juliette should not be told the truth about what he did. Juliette had been devoted to him, and if she thought that he hadn’t run away to be an actor, but was dancing with death, playing a dangerous role in the Revolution, she would have driven herself to distraction with worry. Henry agreed it was far better that she was allowed to think Yann was an ungrateful young man who had given up a golden opportunity to go to Cambridge.

    Not for the first time, he was considering the wisdom of his decision. It was as clear as day, whether they liked it or not, his earnest and very beautiful young niece was in love with Yann.

    It was in the New Year, at one of their English lessons, that Mr Trippen handed Sido a letter. Her surprise at seeing her name written on it