Den of Thieves (30 page)

 

Dear Frank

Forgive my scrawl – I write this in haste. It appears I have to make a rapid exit from Paris thanks to a bishop and a king. I have promised them that you will advance the expenses incurred in my removal – a sum which I will repay as soon as I can. I hope your parents will pardon my presumption but I have little choice.

Tell Johnny and Lizzie that I regret missing their wedding. I send them both my love.

Your friend,

Cat.

P.S. Bid Pedro farewell for me and say that I'll see him back in London.

*
Badly guarded girl

It was not perhaps the glorious departure from the Opera that I had imagined after my performance, but it was certainly better than the reception that otherwise would have greeted me outside. As I was carried aloft in my wash basket, I could hear the bishop chatting to the guardsmen, telling jokes as he bought them a round.

‘To France!' The bishop gave the toast, which was followed by some satisfied glugging.

‘Don't worry, monsieur, we'll soon have that little English spy where she can do no more sneaking,' chuckled one man. ‘Mayor Bailly is determined to get a result.'

‘Can't have any more foreigners sticking their noses into our business,' said the other. ‘Here, citizen, where are you going with that?'

‘To Le Vestris's personal washerwoman,' said Renard in a wheezing tone, completing his
performance with a hacking cough.

‘The master's things, eh? Better not get in the way then.' The guard waved us through and turned back to his companions. ‘Clever, though, to use a girl. None of us suspected her until you alerted us to her double life.'

Thanks, Ibrahim, I thought sourly as I was jolted past.

‘Yes, she certainly is full of surprises,' agreed the bishop.

Once out of sight, I was released from my wicker prison.

‘Where to now?' I asked J-F. It struck me that I hadn't given any thought past escaping the mayor's men, and now I was standing in Paris dressed in a ballerina's peasant costume with no money and no idea how to get home. ‘Do we have time to fetch my things?'

J-F shook his head. ‘Not unless you want them to catch you. Here!' He threw his cloak round my shoulders. ‘Now let's get you your ride.'

‘This is where I leave you, mademoiselle,' said Renard. ‘I must return to check our friend from
Notre Dame does not double-cross us.' He kissed me on the cheeks. ‘Farewell, little dancer. I'm sure we'll meet again one day.' He walked swiftly towards the Opera, waving away my thanks.

J-F started off in the opposite direction. ‘We'd better hurry. It won't take them long to work out they've missed you.'

We threaded our way through the quiet backstreets to the river.

‘I think it best that we take passage on a barge,' J-F explained as he jumped down the steps to the riverside. ‘It's slow but all roads are bound to be watched and it's far less likely we'll run into trouble this way.'

‘We?' What did this mean?

J-F smiled at my surprise and linked my arm in his. ‘I was thinking it was time I took my summer holiday. It's terribly unfashionable to stay in town out of season,' he said, aping the languid tones of the aristocracy. Then he added, in his usual practical manner: ‘Besides, though I trust you, I don't trust you to be able to talk your way out of trouble. Your accent's pretty good, but no one
would mistake you for a native. No, from now on, you are my silent sister, travelling with her brother to see a sick grandmother in Rouen.'

‘J-F, I don't know how to thank you . . .'

‘Don't thank me. Milord told me that you have a rare talent for telling tales of your life in London. I'm expecting to be well entertained for my trouble.'

We arrived down on the quayside. I waited in the shadows while J-F ambled on to join some bargemen sitting on barrels, smoking long-stemmed pipes. He was soon chatting familiarly with them. I shivered, glancing nervously behind me: for all J-F's ease, I still feared to hear the sound of pursuit. The discussion ended with him shaking hands with one of the men and handing over some coins. He looked towards me and gave a whistle.

‘Oi, sister! Hurry. We've got our ride!'

‘A whistle?' I asked in a low voice as we followed the bargeman on to his vessel. ‘Since when did you summon me with a whistle?'

‘No need to explain to the bargeman who you are now, is there?' J-F was acting very pleased with
himself, relishing the adventure and his own cleverness. This struck me as both infuriating and endearing at the same time.

‘I suppose not,' I acknowledged. ‘So am I allowed to whistle to get your attention?'

‘You could try – but I won't answer.' The king of thieves of the Palais Royal had obviously not forgotten the respect due to him, even if we were about to leave his territory.

The bargeman led us to a long shallow-draughted boat moored opposite the Conciergerie prison. The roofs that had so recently housed the Avons were outlined against the dark sky like dunce's caps – a fitting reminder if I needed it of the mess I had made of my errand for Mr Sheridan. It was I that should be wearing the fool's hat, not the building. If ever my patron took the risk of employing me again on a similar journey (which I very much doubted he would), I hoped to act with more discretion. But then, Reader, I know myself well enough to realize that I'll always be a jump-in-without-first-looking girl, so I expect I'll continue to blunder from mistake to mistake. Let
us hope I continue to live to regret it afterwards. It had been rather too close for comfort this time and I was still not safe.

It seemed apt that my stay in Paris should have come full circle: I was close to the place where Frank and I had first spotted the towers of Notre Dame but this time I was fleeing the great city. I spared the cathedral a respectful nod as we climbed on board. Directed to a snug cabin in the stern, we prepared to settle down for what we hoped would be an uneventful night.

‘I've persuaded our captain to set sail immediately. You sleep – I'll keep watch,' yawned J-F, ever the gallant gentleman.

I was too tired to argue the point. Not used to the frantic activity of the last few days, I felt I could sleep for a week. J-F had not failed me yet: I had learned the hard way that I could put my trust in him. He really was an extraordinary person. But I wasn't so sure that his motive for accompanying me was merely to have a holiday. Somehow, somewhere along the journey we had travelled together the past few days, we had become part of each
other's lives. Brother and sister, he had said. Perhaps. But why then did my eyes always turn to him when he was in a room, only to find he was already watching me? There was something between us that we hadn't yet had a chance to put a name to; maybe the time on the barge would give me the answer.

‘You've surprised me, J-F,' I admitted.

‘How so?'

‘You seem not to mind that you've spent the last few days getting me out of trouble.'

‘But you forget that I'm being well paid by milord – and besides, who said a thief can't have a friend?'

‘I won't forget it.'

The last thing I remember before I closed my eyes was J-F sitting by the stairs to the deck, softly humming the tune to which we had danced.

Life slowed to walking pace from the hectic career of that week in June. We saw out the month and the early days of the next making our way slowly downstream on the barge. J-F procured me some
shoes and clothes at the first riverside market we came to and now we could stroll arm in arm along the bank among the meadows thigh-high in grass and summer flowers, keeping pace with the horses pulling our vessel along the sluggish waters of the Seine. Two town mice, we learned on that journey to take life more gently, to sit still and watch the water roll by, to cook over open fires under the stars. Every mile separating us from Paris made me feel safer. I was able to relax for the first time since coming to France and enjoy the companionship of my new friend. It was a magical interlude.

Our captain was a taciturn man but he evidently liked having young people about. His own son had gone into the navy and he spent too many hours alone with no one but his dog for company. At first he divided tasks as he thought best, me to do the cooking and J-F to help about the boat, but when he found I was more skilled at managing the tow ropes than the kitchen, there was a rearrangement of roles to everyone's mutual benefit. J-F cooked some wonderful stews, rich with herbs and garlic, which with the accompaniment
of some fresh bread made a feast truly fit for kings.

But as the days passed a question still hung unresolved between J-F and me: what exactly was going on between us? Was the pleasure we took in each other's company just the result of a holiday – a bubble of emotion that would burst at the first prick of reality? I was amazed at how fickle I was! First confused by Syd's kiss, then languishing hopelessly for Johnny, now wondering about the feelings of a funny-looking French boy with a personality so intriguing that it became harder and harder to think I'd have to leave him so soon.

It wasn't as if the prospect of returning to London was so very alluring: all my friends away and only my enemies waiting for me.

‘How will I get back to England?' I asked J-F one evening as the bargeman snored gently in his hammock. We were nearing the Channel port of Le Havre and I needed to make plans for the next stage of my journey.

‘Are you sure you want to go back, Cat?' he asked, blowing a plume of smoke into the air from
his pipe. He swore the fumes kept the mosquitoes at bay but I suspected he was merely trying to impress me.

‘Where else can I go? It's my home.‘

‘You could stay in France – with me.' He glanced at my face to see how I took the casual invitation. I didn't know if he could tell, but my heart was thumping: was this the declaration I had been expecting? I was suddenly no longer sure I wanted to hear it. ‘Every court needs a queen,' he concluded.

‘You have plenty of candidates,' I said, trying to turn the remark light-heartedly. ‘Annette, Marie – either of them would make a worthy companion. If I were you I'd choose Marie – she's a natural leader.'

‘True.' He sucked on his pipe stem.

‘And I'd be a burden: you'd have to get me out of difficulties all the time.'

‘Yes, you would be trouble: I'm sure of that. Perhaps that's why I'm asking you to stay.'

This seemed less than wholehearted. I needed more.

‘I don't know, J-F. I'm hardly welcome in Paris at the moment – I can't really stay, can I?'

J-F paused. ‘I suppose not.'

Having wanted him to agree and endorse my decision to go, I now felt annoyed that he had. Did he not care enough to make more fuss about my imminent departure? Or did he just feel too much and not want to risk revealing it: a display of weakness was fatal to someone in his position. He'd probably forgotten how to show anyone he needed them.

My confusion made my next words too brisk. ‘Well, in that case, I'd better get myself back home where I'll be no trouble.'

J-F shook his head. ‘I can't believe that.'

‘Can't believe what?'

‘You – no trouble. It follows you like a tail does a cat.'

I had to laugh: he was right, of course. I wasn't leaving trouble behind but heading right into a new storm involving Billy Shepherd, some stolen stories and a playhouse reduced to rubble. I didn't relish the thought of facing
that
alone.

‘Why don't you come with me, J-F? Come and see London for yourself.'

He sat down beside me and put his arm around my shoulders. ‘I can't. I'd be a fish out of water. You wouldn't like me any more if you saw me like that.'

‘Who says I like you now?' I prodded him in the ribs. ‘You told the bishop I meant nothing to you: you see, I haven't forgotten.'

‘I wish you would.'

Silence fell between us: it was a moment that could have gone in any direction – to a kiss, to a joke, to an argument even. It was J-F who broke the spell, turning to practical matters.

‘There's no need to worry, Cat: I promise I'll get you home even if I do have to pass up the chance to see your city. I have a useful contact who should be able to get you into England – and he'll do so without alerting our authorities to your regrettable desire to quit these shores.'

Once again, I felt disappointed that J-F hadn't tried harder to persuade me to stay – but part of me was also relieved. I attempted to match his practical turn of mind. ‘Oh yes? What kind of contact?'

‘A privateer. I help him – how shall we say? – distribute his wares.'

‘A smuggler!'

‘Why so shocked? I'm hardly likely to know the town priest, am I?'