Den of Thieves

  ‘J-F sent you?’ That was unexpected. My faith in humanity was partially restored after the serious battering of the last few weeks.

  ‘Of course. He believed I was the only one who could persuade that young Arab to surrender you in one piece. It seems he was right. It is rather flattering, I must admit, to find my reputation has earned me so much respect in the more . . . er . . . interesting classes in our city.’

  I looked out of the carriage window. It was true. Those that recognized the dancer’s carriage stood to attention and removed their caps as he passed. They were in awe of their favourite celebrity. Le Vestris waved a cheerful acknowledgement.

  ‘If you do not mind, mademoiselle, we will proceed directly to the Opera. You have much to learn if you are to make a creditable debut on Saturday.’

  He could say that again.

  SCENE 2 – CONCIERGERIE PRISON

  Fortunately, all I was expected to do that night was watch the show. Le Vestris led the way backstage and sat me in the wings next to the man in charge of the curtains. From this side view of the stage, I could see a segment of the boxes filled with chattering Parisians, the cello players tuning their instruments, a piper warming his fingers by playing flourishes like outbursts of birdsong. A large chandelier lit the stage, light spilling out into the auditorium, picking out the gilt and glitter of the decorations edging the boxes, flashing off jewels and opera glasses. Swags of red, white and blue looped the walls, declaring the Opera’s allegiance to the revolution. Behind me, the ballerinas were limbering up, touching their toes and stretching their arms above their heads. I felt at home: the stage was on a larger scale than Drury Lane, but the smells and the sounds – all these were essentially the same. My heart beat with sympathetic excitement as the moment of performance approached.

  ‘So, the little stray has returned.’ Mimi was at my back, looking none too pleased to see me, behind her Colette and Belle. They were dressed in peasant costume with their long hair wound into plaits over their ears like badly made croissants.

  ‘Why, were you missing me?’ I asked, tired of their banter.

  ‘How they let you get away with it is beyond me,’ tutted Colette. ‘Marched off to the city hall, out all night with a band of vagabonds – I can’t imagine Madame Beaufort allowing us to do that.’

  ‘Mesdemoiselles, positions please!’ Mimi’s words were cut short by the stage manager. The ballerinas scurried off in a patter of cork-soled shoes. I was pleased to see the back of them: their constant sniping at me was beginning to depress my spirits. It seemed they were never going to accept me.

  The conductor entered to the applause of the house. As he took his place, I noticed a small black violinist sitting near the podium. So Pedro had landed himself a new job.

  A hand landed on my shoulder as I craned forward to catch a better view of my friend. I jumped.

  ‘Careful, Catkin: the stage manager won’t be pleased if your head is spotted by the audience.’

  ‘Johnny!’

  He pulled me back with him into the shadows of the wings as the strains of the overture began. Taking my shoulders, he turned me round and inspected me.

  ‘Those thieves didn’t hurt you?’

  ‘Not much. But I’ve got so much to tell you.’ I quickly informed him of the suspicions running rife that there was an English spy in the Avon circle. ‘It seems I only made it worse writing that letter to Sheridan to ask for his help. The bishop suspects me – but I think Mayor Bailly has his eye on Frank or Joseph. The mayor seemed to think I was too empty-headed to be a threat – he let me go with nothing more than a telling-off.’

  Johnny frowned. ‘And this bishop: what is he like?’

  ‘He’s a street Arab – as sharp as they come. Ruthless and charming.’

  ‘Well, at least we know where we stand with him. We know we can’t trust him, whereas I must say your little friend J-F has kept me guessing all day. I wasn’t sure I could believe him when he said he knew how to rescue you. You’ve given us a terrible time since last night – we’ve all been worried.’ Johnny bit his lip. He looked tired out with fretting about me and Lizzie.

  ‘You weren’t the only one, Johnny. I wasn’t sure my luck was going to hold. But how’s Lizzie? Did Pedro get in to see the Avons with a bribe of a free concert?’

  Johnny nodded. ‘Though I doubt he should go again – we don’t want them suspecting him of spying after what you’ve told me. He didn’t mention your predicament to the Avons – we didn’t want to alarm them, thinking they had enough to worry about.’

  ‘And how are they?’

  ‘In some ways, much better. The duchess has charmed the governor with the recital she and Pedro gave him and his lady wife, and as a result their conditions have improved. They now have access to a courtyard; the food’s edible and they’ve been given candles. The English representative visited today and is pounding his fist on the desks of the bureaucrats to get the Avons released. Things might also move faster when we get this printed.’ He pulled out a scroll of paper from his jacket pocket: it was a rough of his cartoon of the Avons, the duke portrayed as a loyal friend of the revolution trapped with his songbird (the duchess) in a cage. ‘Marie is seeing it through the press for me.’

  ‘Excellent! I can’t wait to see it in print. And Lizzie?’

  He frowned. ‘As well as can be expected. A little pale, according to Pedro, and she has a bad cough, but she’s not complaining.’

  ‘Oh, Johnny.’ I squeezed his hand. Lizzie was the last person who should be locked up in a pestilential prison.

  ‘So we’d better hurry up and get them out, Catkin,’ he said with a brave smile, returning the pressure on my fingers. ‘I’ll see you at the end of the performance and walk you home.’

  I watched the ballet from the wings with growing despair. Not only did the prospect of participating in it in a few days fill me with dread, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Lizzie. Sitting so close, I could hear every thump and squeak of the boards as the dancers leapt and twirled. They flitted by, masking the effort they were making with bland smiles; they were like my friend – putting on a false air to deceive the onlooker as to their true feelings. Lizzie was doubtless trying to hide her illness in order not to alarm her parents. What if she became dangerously sick? I couldn’t bear it if we lost her, especially when she was so close to realizing her hopes of happiness with Johnny.

  A light touch like a spider tickled my neck. I shivered.

  ‘Mademoiselle Cat.’ J-F bowed and grinned at me. ‘I freed you from the clutches of the church, no?’

  I curtseyed, returning his smile. ‘Indeed, monsieur, I am in your debt.’

  He linked arms with mine, bobbing on the balls of his feet in time to the music. ‘Unfortunately, the bishop still claims you as his parishioner. Why would that be, do you think? He knows I’ll never give up milord for so little profit to myself.’

  The unspoken confession that J-F would betray Frank if enough were offered gave me a sudden alarm.

  ‘J-F, what have you done with Frank?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he patted my arm. ‘He’s safe. But you haven’t answered my question.’

  ‘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 mothe
r 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 promis
e 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!’