Den of Thieves (27 page)

‘Which one?' I knew full well what he meant but I did not want to mention the bishop's suspicions about me. Who knew what opportunities for himself J-F would see in this little bit of information?

‘About the bishop.' J-F was looking shrewdly at me but I kept my eyes on the dusty toes of my shoes.

‘Perhaps he just wants to see what a terrible dancer I am.'

‘But you won't be terrible!' J-F put his hand around my waist and began to dance me around the wings in time to the music. ‘We are both born
to do this. Your mother must have been a dancer like mine – or your father perhaps?' He wove around Mimi and Belle, giving them a wink as they made an elaborate fuss about him brushing against their skirts. ‘Maybe Terpsichore herself gave birth to you.'

I had to smile. ‘I doubt it – most people think my mother was a beggar or worse.' We spun into the corridor leading to the stage door.

‘Down with most people, Cat!' J-F stopped dancing and gave me a stern look. ‘If you have no origins, you are free to invent something that has poetry – indeed, it is your duty. I, King of the Thieves, command it!'

I then realized that, for all the dancing around each other the last few days in our strange game of trust and mistrust, I was looking into the face of a kindred spirit. How often had I made up parents for myself, believing that such dreams did no harm and much good, a defence against the unpleasant truth that I had been abandoned? J-F was the first to have ever encouraged me to do this. He understood.

‘I will, your majesty.'

He took my hand. ‘You might not know it, Cat, but you are luckier than some. I have to invent my stories to do away with a parent I wish I didn't know. At least you have a blank canvas to work on.'

I shook my head, puzzled. ‘I don't understand.'

He mimicked ducking a blow. ‘My father used to beat my mother and me – how else do you think I learnt to dance out of the way so quickly? It was a relief when he left and Grandfather took us in. Now, if he came back, I'd be ready for him.' He gave me a confident smile. ‘But he won't come calling, not now I'm the king. He knows what that means for him.'

‘And your mother?'

‘Oh, I've made sure she's free of him too. Earns her keep as a mermaid at the Palais Royal. See, peddling dreams is in the family.' And with that, he winked and disappeared into the shadows outside.

I spent most of the next few days in the practice rooms at the Opera. Le Vestris's idea was that J-F and I should lead the dancing in the village festival
scene. Our dance was to be copied by the lovers, played by Le Vestris and the prima ballerina, concluding in a high spirited competition of agility between the two pairs.

‘You see, mademoiselle,' Le Vestris declared, waving his silver-topped cane in the air, ‘this ballet is about us – the common people. I want to show the audience that, from our cradle, we can all belong to the aristocracy of talent. Even our children can dance like the greatest among us.' He gave a modest bow, hand to his chest.

‘He thinks you and I can rival him and Mademoiselle Angeline?' I muttered to J-F. ‘Is everyone mad in Paris?'

‘At the moment,' said J-F sagely, ‘I'd say we're all a little out of our minds: daring to think the unthinkable, to do the impossible.'

‘Well, this certainly counts as impossible.' I lost my concentration and stepped on J-F's toes. ‘Sorry.'

‘Mademoiselle Cat, what was that supposed to be?' Le Vestris descended on me and prodded my errant leg with the cane. ‘You have ability, but you lack discipline. If you believe you will fail, you will
fail. I cannot allow that. You must believe that you will succeed.'

‘Fat chance,' I said under my breath. It was hard to concentrate on thoughts of success when my mind was so full of anxiety. News from the prison was worse: Lizzie was now ill enough for her gaolers to agree that she required the attendance of a doctor. Johnny's pleas for her to be released had fallen on deaf ears. The mayor's men were still searching for Frank and I had a bishop to please to avoid denunciation as a spy.

I stumbled again.

J-F gripped my hand. His expression was almost tender. ‘What would it take, Cat, to clear your mind for the dance?'

I gave him a rueful smile. ‘I suppose I'd be a lot happier if only I knew my friends were out of danger.'

‘If I promise to have them released by Saturday, will you promise to concentrate for the rest of the practice?' He stroked my cheek, seeming quite confident he could keep his word. It was strange being so close to a boy in the
sanctioned intimacy of a dance – I wasn't sure how to behave.

‘You can do that?'

He nodded. ‘Being the king of thieves does have some advantages. You must put your trust in my influence.'

‘But if you can do this, why haven't you done it before now?'

‘You didn't ask – and besides, your Monsieur Johnny had to prepare the ground for me.'

‘So how are you going to do it? The officials aren't listening to the British representative or anyone else. What hope do you have?'

‘Ah,' J-F gave me a mysterious smile, ‘they will listen to me. Paris is now governed by its people – not by official representatives.'

‘Cat, Jean-François, pay attention!' Le Vestris clapped his hands together. The pianist had been tinkling away on the practice pianoforte for some time now while we'd been conducting our negotiation.

‘I am sorry, monsieur.' J-F bowed to the master. ‘But I feel sure that now I've put her mind at rest,
Cat will dance flawlessly for us.'

‘Indeed, monsieur, I promise to try my best,' adding under my breath to J-F, ‘though I'm not sure about the flawless bit.'

And we swept off into the dance one more time.

At breakfast on Saturday, Renard sidled up to me on the pretext of filling my cup.

‘Mademoiselle, I think you should ask to be excused from practice this morning. Tell Madame Beaufort you are resting before the dress rehearsal this afternoon.'

I swallowed my mouthful of milk too quickly. ‘Why? What's going on?'

‘Just let us say that my grandson keeps his promises. You will be going on a little walk with us, that's all.'

I wanted to ask how a stroll with the two thieves would secure the release of the Avons, but the ballerinas were watching me. They had stopped mocking me since Le Vestris had taken an interest in my dancing and they now regarded me warily. I think they were worried I was
overtaking them, being exalted into the realms of the stars while they still plodded away in the chorus line. If only they knew how limited my abilities were, they wouldn't lose any sleep on that count.

Having secured Madame Beaufort's blessing for my excursion, I accompanied Renard to the local market.

‘Why are we here?' I asked as Renard sniffed a melon with professional interest.

‘Well, little one, there's still the matter of your tail. As you are not a real cat, you do not need the mayor's men dangling behind you.'

‘They're still following me? Why didn't you say?' I glanced over my shoulder and caught sight of a dark-jacketed man pretending to read a playbill.

‘Yes, that's one of them,' Renard said with a chuckle. ‘We didn't feel we needed to mention it, believing it was better they were waiting around the Opera than causing problems for milord searching for him near the Palais Royal.'

I grinned. ‘True.'

‘But now it would be better if they lost sight of you for a few hours, and the market is the best place to do this.'

With that, he ducked between two vegetable stalls as a flock of housewives passed, baskets in hand. I followed and found that he had led me into a narrow alley. At a smart pace, we made our way out the other end, leaving the noise of the market behind us. Renard handed me into a doorway and stood watching the alley for a moment. No one appeared at the far end.

‘Good, they are still scratching their heads then, wondering if you've been turned into a pumpkin. Let us hurry.'

We proceeded at a trot towards the Palais Royal.

‘Will you tell me what's going on now?' I panted beside him.

Renard patted my arm which was linked through his. ‘Nothing for you to worry about, mademoiselle. My grandson is rabble-rousing.'

‘He's what?' I'd experienced the French mob once already; I wasn't certain I wanted a repeat performance.

‘He's calling the people of Paris to demand justice.'

‘How's that going to help?'

‘It's the people who rule now, mademoiselle. We ruled when we knocked down the Bastille; we did it again when we dragged the king from his hiding place in Versailles. It'll surely be but the work of a morning to raise enough people to free a few foreigners, particularly with the promise of a free show.'

As we turned into the courtyard of the Palais Royal, we were greeted by the sight of J-F standing on a barrel outside a café, addressing a crowd of onlookers. Annette and Marie were passing through the people handing out copies of Captain Sparkler's latest cartoon.

‘Citizens,' cried J-F, ‘we must not let this happen. One of us – a woman of the people – has been locked up with her husband and daughter at the whim of the bureaucrats. These English visitors came to pay their respects to our revolution and have been thanked with a prison cell. I thought we had kissed goodbye to such abuses
when we broke down the walls of the Bastille, but already our new rulers resort to the same methods.'

The crowd shouted their encouragement to the little orator. There was a holiday mood in the air.

‘What's J-F up to?' I heard a woman ask her neighbour.

‘I don't know. Something about an opera singer. He's said she'll sing for us if we get her out.'

I could tell that few cared about the cause, or really understood it; they were just enthusiastic to exercise their political muscle again, to prove they were still a force to be reckoned with.

‘Will you come with me,' J-F called, ‘come with me to demand the release of the songbird? Such talents should not be caged but let loose for all of us to hear.' He jumped down from his barrel, holding aloft a stick with a familiar pink ribbon on one end. The crowd gave a huzzah and turned to follow him. For the second time since coming to Paris, I found myself swept along with a mob, this time bound for the Conciergerie.

‘What if the national guard take it into their
heads to send us packing?' I asked Renard nervously.

‘Don't worry, mademoiselle. That's why I'm here.'

‘Oh?'

‘Yes, J-F said to keep you safe.'

‘That's kind of him.'

‘He doesn't want to lose his dancing partner, does he, so close to the big night?'

‘Oh.'

As we crossed the Seine, my arm was seized on the other side.

‘Frank!'

‘How are you, Cat? I hear you're to dance for us tonight. See, I told you you could do it.'

‘You haven't seen me dance yet. But should you be here? Isn't it dangerous for you?'

‘You think they'll spot me as an English lord in this crowd? If they do, they deserve to catch me.'

It was true. Almost a week of living with the thieves had roughened Frank's polished edges. He looked dirty, a little hungry, he even walked with a slouch – in fact, he now resembled the rest of us.

‘I suppose not. Do you think this'll work?'

‘It's got to.' His expression was grim. I had the impression that Frank had grown up a lot over the past few days.

We arrived outside the gates of the Conciergerie. Our number had swelled in our passage through town as people flocked to find out what the fuss was all about. J-F hoisted himself on to the shoulders of an all too recognizable footman and shouted to the guard inside, ‘Release the English woman and her family! You've got the king back – let these people go!'

The guard tried to ignore him.

‘Listen to your brothers and sisters, citizen!' cried J-F. ‘The people want no friends of the revolution behind bars!'

No one replied; a guard even turned his back – a very bad move for it was this contempt for the people that infuriated the crowd. The masses started to beat on the gates, whistling and booing.

‘We'll make them listen,' shouted a black-bearded man. ‘Oi, citizen, if you don't bring them out here now, we're coming in to get them.'

‘Remember what happened to the gaoler in the Bastille!' shrieked a woman.

‘Bastille! Bastille! Bastille!' chanted the crowd.

This had the desired effect: the guardsman darted inside to fetch the governor. The concierge himself appeared on the steps and held up his hands, appealing for calm.

‘Citizens, what can I do for you?' he said with an entirely false smile. He was shaking with nerves – as well he might as his predecessor at the Bastille had ended up with his head on a pike.

‘Let the innocent go!' called J-F.

‘Innocent? That is not yet decided.'

‘Where's your proof they were involved? You have none. But we have proof that they are friends to our cause. Bring them out – let them pledge their support before us, the people, and let them go.'

At this point, the crowd helpfully surged against the gates, which groaned on their hinges.

The concierge wiped his brow. ‘I want no trouble today, my friends. The king is returning – the streets must be quiet to show him that we
can govern ourselves in his absence.'

‘Then do as we say and we'll return peacefully to our homes, and this will be remembered as a mere discussion between friends,' J-F replied shrewdly. ‘You can take the credit for righting an injustice.'

The concierge was clearly weighing up the options: risk a battle on his patch or release a few prisoners who were at the most only marginally involved in the king's flight.

‘All right, my friends, I will bring them to you. But how shall they make their pledge?'