Den of Thieves (15 page)

A dog trotted over and sniffed around our feet until called off by a whistle from its owner.

‘What do you make of your first proper view of Paris?' Frank asked me.

‘I like it. It seems more peaceful than London.'

No sooner had these words passed my lips than a rider galloped by, crying something at the top of his voice.

‘What was that? I didn't catch what he said,' said Frank.

‘I didn't hear him either. Something about the king. He's not ill, is he?'

Though we may have not understood, it was clear those around us had. Like a wind passing
through a forest came the noise of voices repeating the news, shouting it from one house to the next. It swept passed Frank, Joseph and me.

‘The king has fled! The royal family have disappeared!'

‘To the palace!' the baker's boy shouted and took off at a run down the street, closely followed by the woman bearing a broom. They joined a tide of people all heading south. I grabbed Frank and pulled him around.

‘Come on – let's go and see for ourselves!' I urged him.

‘But Cat!'

‘It's my job to be inquisitive.' Frank had evidently not been brought up on the streets of a capital city as I had: when there's a free show, everyone goes.

Shielded by Joseph, we rushed along with the crowd. It was like being a stick carried by a flooded stream. It didn't matter that I had not the first clue where the palace was: the crowd were taking me there no matter what.

‘It can't be true!' cried a woman on my left. She
sported a red, white and blue ribbon pinned to her apron. ‘He's the father of the nation: he won't have abandoned us!'

‘He must have been abducted,' shouted a man beside her, clearly unable to imagine that the man they had all been taught to revere could leave them. ‘He wouldn't betray his people!' He too wore the ribbon. Now I came to think of it, everyone was wearing one – everyone except Frank, Joseph and me. Was there something I was missing?

‘It was the Austrians – that evil wife of his,' cursed another.

I glanced across at my companions. Frank had his lips pressed in a worried frown; Joseph was concentrating on protecting us from being trampled – neither appeared to be enjoying the experience. But I was. After weeks of feeling low, I felt buoyed up on the surge of people, exhilarated by the shouting, excited by being part of a momentous event. The king gone! When I reported this to Mr Sheridan, he could not deny that my first letter was worth a guinea.

Bells began to ring across the city. Drums rolled
and men dressed in uniforms stumbled out of their houses, still pulling on their jackets.

‘The National Guard have been called to arms!' cried the woman. ‘It must be true then!'

The crowd slowed as we neared some big iron gates. As people were still pouring in from all directions, the press increased. Being a good head shorter than nearly everyone else, I was in danger of being crushed between a fat country woman and a sweep carrying a sack. Joseph grabbed me from behind.

‘Excuse me, miss,' he said firmly, lifting me up on to his shoulders so that now I towered above the crowd, having a grand view of events.

‘What's happening, Cat?' asked Frank.

‘The gates are locked. I can see some people arguing with the guards. That's it: they've pushed them open.'

The bottleneck eased, the crowd started flowing again like wine decanting into the bowlshaped gardens of the palace. We splashed and spread over every inch. I ducked as Joseph took me through the archway into a courtyard.

‘Put me down, please,' I called to him.

He lowered me to the ground. ‘Forgive the liberty, miss,' he said solemnly.

‘Not at all. It was most necessary.' Taking Frank's hand, I pulled him towards the tide of people invading the palace building itself.

‘You're not thinking of going in there, are you?' he asked nervously.

‘Of course!'

‘Cat, you are the most reckless, the most foolish –'

‘I know – and don't you love me for it!' I called over my shoulder as I towed him after me.

Hot on the heels of angry Parisians, we entered the Royal Palace. For many of us, it was the first time we had seen such splendour with our own eyes. It felt almost as if we were desecrating a temple – the mystique of royalty trampled by our commoners' feet. We made our way through a grand entrance hall and into a set of interconnecting rooms lined with mirrors. Rich red and gilt flashed by as we rushed forward; priceless paintings, statues, and frescoes were for the first time on view for the masses. Fine chairs and tables were overturned,
turkey rugs sullied by our boots. Servants fled before us like rabbits from a pack of hunting dogs, disappearing further into the building. But it wasn't the rich furnishings and paintings we had come to view – it was the king's bedchamber. And there it was: an empty bed, surrounded by heavy drapes, a pair of monographed slippers peeking out from underneath. The curtains had been pulled back to show that the sheets had not been slept in. A set of small clothes lay unused on a chair, abandoned by a valet when he discovered his master gone. A large mirrored dressing table stood under the window, covered in bottles and grooming implements. Among them lay an envelope weighed down by an ornate letter opener. A boy picked the knife up to inspect it, the diamonds in its handle glinting. A woman squinted at the letter but seemed unable to read the handwriting.

‘What do you mean, you imbecile?' a rough-looking man was shouting into the face of a terrified servant who had not managed to escape. ‘“He went to bed as normal” – how could he have done!'

‘I swear, m-monsieur,' stammered the man, ‘I knew nothing about it until I pulled back the curtains. It's like magic.'

‘Black Austrian magic, you mean,' said the man, shaking the unfortunate valet by the lapels.

There was a crash over by the fireplace. Two members of the crowd had taken it upon themselves to smash the royal chamberpot.

‘You can't do that!' squeaked the valet.

‘With his high and mightiness gone, who's going to stop us?' shrieked a woman as she grabbed a bottle of cologne from the dressing table and threw it on the hearth, releasing a strong odour to mingle with that of the sweaty crowd. It seemed that not everyone was prepared to give the king the benefit of the doubt: some here were not sad to see him go.

‘Let's get out,' Frank whispered in my ear.

More people were coming and the mood was turning ugly. I had to agree that it was time for us to leave. We elbowed a path back the way we had come and out into the courtyard. A detachment of guards was marching briskly towards the building
with the look of men come to restore order.

‘Citizens, this building is to be closed to preserve the evidence!' announced the man at the head of the column. He'd better hurry or there would be little left to preserve.

‘Where's the king and his Austrian witch? Where's the dauphin and the princess royal?' shouted someone in the crowd at the palace entrance.

‘You will learn more as soon as we establish the facts, citizens,' the guard said with admirable calm. ‘For now, please return peacefully to your homes. Rest assured, the National Assembly is doing all it can to return the king to Paris.'

With some grumbling, the crowd began to flow back the way it had come, massing outside the gates on a great square, not quite knowing what to do with itself. It did not feel right to be at a loose end on such an historic day.

‘So the king really has left Paris,' said Frank, gazing back at the palace. ‘I wonder why? I thought he had sworn to uphold the revolution.'

The rough-looking man we had seen in the
king's bedchamber spun round on hearing foreign voices in the crowd. His red cap was pulled low on his brow and he had no breeches, just loose trousers such as all working-men wear.

‘I saw you there, didn't I, citizens?' he challenged us. ‘I remember you: the little redhead and the rich boy with the buckskin breeches. You were up in the king's bedchamber.'

There seemed no point in denying it. ‘Like yourself, monsieur, we wanted to see for ourselves if it were true,' I replied politely.

‘You speak funny.' He took a step towards me, a couple of burly mates in his wake. ‘Austrian spies, are you?'

‘Austrians! Austrians!' The cry was repeated on all sides.

Frank held up his hands in a placatory gesture. ‘Not Austrians, monsieur, English.' This didn't appear to make things any better.

‘But we are friends of France, not enemies,' I added hurriedly.

The man seized Frank by the arm and looked him over. Joseph stepped forward to intervene,
only to find himself restrained by two men from behind. ‘If you are our friends, where are your cockades then?'

‘Cockade?' Frank swallowed, darting a look at me but I was as clueless as him.

The man tapped his ribbon. ‘Your cockade. Every citizen loyal to the revolution wears one.'

‘I'm sorry, we only arrived last night. We haven't had time . . .' began Frank but he was pushed aside as the man turned his attention on me.

‘And where's yours, citizeness? Among all those ribbons, surely you would have had time to put on the red, white and blue?'

I looked hopelessly down at the dress Madame Beaufort had chosen for me. It was covered in pink bows. I couldn't blame him for being offended; the dress upset me too.

‘I apologize, monsieur, I didn't know . . .'

‘A likely story. Everyone knows. What's your name?'

‘Catherine, monsieur.'

‘Catherine what?'

‘Royal – I'm named after the theatre . . .'

But he didn't want to hear about that. ‘Royal!' he roared, seizing me by the scruff of the neck. ‘Messieurs, we have foreign royalists in our midst – enemies of the revolution. They have collaborated with the queen to poison the king against us – they persuaded him to leave.' An angry muttering rippled through the crowd surrounding us.

‘They helped the king escape!' shouted a woman wildly. ‘I saw them do it!'

‘I did too,' shrieked another. The mood against the royal family was changing from bewilderment to indignation – and we were unfortunately about to suffer for it.

‘But we didn't!' Frank protested. ‘We had nothing to do with it. We only arrived last night!'

‘And the king fled last night!' bellowed the man triumphantly as if this was proof of our guilt. ‘To the lamp post with them! Hang the foreign traitors as an example to our enemies!'

‘No!' I shrieked as he dragged me with him to the edge of the square. ‘We're innocent – we've done nothing!'

Joseph was struggling frantically with his
captors; Frank had been wrestled to the ground by three men. A woman spat on him.

‘Death to the foreign spies!' she jeered.

‘Cat, run!' Frank yelled, but there was no chance of that: the man had a firm grip on me. Someone produced a length of rope and threw it over one of the arms of a lamp post, a noose tied on one end. I was now fighting for my life. I twisted round and kneed my captor where it would hurt most. He bent double, eyes watering, but still kept a hold of my hair.

‘Hang the girl first,' he gasped. Two men stepped forward and took me by the arms, lifting me off the ground as I wriggled in their grasp.

‘But she's only young,' one said doubtfully, looking for guidance to our self-appointed judge.

‘Not too young to be a royalist traitor,' he firmly replied.

‘I'm not a royalist. I'm a dancer!' I screamed. ‘I'm from the streets like you.' I let out a string of expletives, calling them every name I could think of which, had they known English, would have convinced them of the truth of my claim.

‘A little aristocratic firecracker, this one!' jeered a woman as the noose was put round my neck.

I couldn't believe it: this was the end. I didn't want to die like this – not today, not dressed up like a pink sugar confection. These stupid halfwits were going to murder me because of a name they didn't understand! I was so angry that I forgot even my fear.

‘You imbeciles!' I shouted. Someone tried to pull my hands behind me to bind them. I wrenched them free and employed them in a universally rude gesture. If I was going down, I was damn well going down fighting. ‘That to you, citizen – and you – and you!' My escaped hands were caught and tied together with a handkerchief. ‘You'll regret this, you will!'

‘Not as much as you!' laughed my judge. ‘Up, up and away with the royalist witch!'

‘Not Cat, no!' yelled Frank. ‘Let her go!'

‘Not likely, mate. You're next so shut it!' The man gave a tug on the rope.

‘Stop!' A new voice was unexpectedly raised in my defence. The boy I'd noticed in the king's
bedchamber picking up the knife pushed his way to the front of the crowd and planted himself before me, poised on the balls of his feet like a dancer about to spring into action. He was barefoot and had a red cap pushed back on his head. A gaudy waistcoat edged with gold braid covered his tattered shirt.

‘Who are you, citizen?' asked my judge, letting the rope slacken a fraction.

‘Jean-Francois Thiland, bachelor of this parish.' The boy whipped the cap from his head and gave a flourishing bow to his audience.

‘It's J-F!' a woman whispered to her neighbour. This obviously meant something to many of them because the name was passed one to the other, accompanied by a smile and a nod.

‘Citizens, I appeal to you! What has the girl done but come out a trifle unprepared? My maman does that when she's had too much to drink – would you hang her too? Not very chivalrous, no?'

A few in the crowd laughed.

‘Besides, I believe her when she says she's
one of us,' the boy continued, strutting like a pigeon on the pavement in front of me.