Den of Thieves (22 page)

‘Like it, Cat?' asked Johnny with an affectionate smile at my expression.

‘Like it? I love it!'

He could barely pull me past the window of the little waxwork exhibition as I admired the bust of the pope and the king. I noticed that someone had knocked the latter's crown askew. I was next absorbed by the poster for the Palais theatre that occupied a large part of the wall next door:

Johnny wrinkled his nose. ‘Come on, Cat, I thought you had better taste than a freak show. I thought you were all for Shakespeare and Dryden.'

‘But a real mermaid, Johnny! I've never seen one of them.'

‘And you won't here, believe me. It's just some poor scantily clad woman squeezed into a costume.'

I let him pull me away but I couldn't help wondering. This was France, after all, not London. Maybe they had mermaids here?

Johnny led me to a seat at the Corazza café and ordered some refreshment. Watching me, he began to laugh.

‘Stop it, Cat! Your eyes are out on stalks!'

I had been staring at a very fat man wobbling along like old gooseberry, accompanied by a tall, thin lady with a deep voice.

‘There's something not right about that lady,' I said, puzzled.

‘That's because his name is Louvet – he's in parliament. He likes to dress as a woman.' Johnny snapped open a newspaper that was lying on the table as if it were perfectly normal to see members of the legislature walking round in evening gowns.

I felt a tap on my shoulder.

‘How are you, chérie?' It was Annette, still wearing my old dress. With her was Marie and a rather sombre looking Frank. Joseph was standing aloof, keeping watch.

Marie shrugged at the footman as she took a seat. ‘I told Jo there was no need, but he doesn't trust us.'

‘Oh, why would that be do you think?' I
asked innocently. ‘Was it because you stripped him of all his worldly goods and left him standing naked yesterday?'

‘Perhaps,' she conceded.

I introduced Johnny to the girls. They gave him their most charming smiles and began to flirt with him – a game I discovered Johnny was skilled at playing. Their attention diverted, I had a chance to talk to Frank.

‘So, Frank, how are they treating you?'

‘Fine, Cat, fine.' Frank seemed distracted.

‘What's up?'

Suddenly, it all burst from him. ‘Do you know how these girls live? Imagine it: they don't even have a bed to sleep in! Marie here – her father's blind, lost his sight in the army, and has to beg for a living. Annette – she had to run away because her uncle used to beat her. Can you believe it?'

Of course I believed it, but it seemed Frank had only just discovered how the majority live. He had only been playing in London when he'd run with Syd's gang, going home at night to his ducal residence; he'd obviously not stopped to think
what the rest of us were going home to.

‘They don't know where their next meal is coming from, they have no money unless they steal, they get treated like dirt on the streets. I've never known anything like it! No one I know lives like that.'

‘That's not true, Frank,' I said quietly, thinking back to my days sleeping rough.

‘Who do we know in London who has to put up with that?'

Poor, dear, innocent Frank. I felt both angry and sorry for him for being so blind. ‘Me for one. Most of Syd's gang for two.'

Frank opened his mouth to protest, looked at me and closed it.

‘You've never noticed, have you? Never noticed that I survive on charity?'

‘You – charity? No, you always lived in Drury Lane Theatre. I can't think of a better place.'

‘But did you ever look behind the gilt and velvet, Frank, and ask how we theatre folk got by? Where was my bed? Where did my meals come from?'

‘Well, erm . . .'

‘Exactly. You're only seeing it now because you're having to live it. Most people of your class never do that so they don't see it either.'

Frank tugged at the ragged neckerchief he had knotted round his throat.

‘I suppose I am guilty of an acute lack of imagination, Cat. I'm sorry, I never thought to ask.'

‘None of us wanted you to. We have our pride.'

At that moment, a man ran into the café where we were sitting, waving a piece of paper over his head.

‘The king has been found! The royal family were overtaken at Varennes!' he shouted, leaping over a table in his passage through.

An excited babble broke out and several political gentlemen of Johnny's acquaintance jumped to their feet and ran off. Johnny poured himself a fresh glass of wine and raised it to us.

‘Let's pray this means peace. No foreign invasion. No war. And freedom for your family, Frank.'

‘Do you think so?' asked Frank hopefully.

Marie plumped herself down on his knee and
ruffled his hair. ‘
Pauvre François
, I'm afraid not. We Parisians will not want the conspirators free to plot another escape.'

‘But they're not conspirators!' Frank protested, blushing deeply as she caressed him.

Marie shrugged. ‘Then they have nothing to fear.'

Annoyed seeing her take such liberties with my friend, I said rather more waspishly than I intended, ‘For someone who spends most of her time avoiding arrest, you seem to have strange faith in your law officers.'

Marie cast me a knowing look and cuddled up closer to Frank. ‘But I would be guilty,
n'est-ce pas
? François says his family is innocent. I believe him.' She kissed him on the cheek.

I turned my eyes away only to see Johnny looking amused by Frank's discomfort. I glared at him, trying by the force of my gaze to remind him that it was Lizzie's little brother that he was laughing at. Johnny winked at me.

‘Enough, mademoiselle,' Johnny said, patting his knee. Annette was already leaning against him
on the other side. ‘You have tested that young man's modesty enough for one evening. Come sit here and behave yourself. We have work to do.'

From my point of view, the exchange did not improve matters. I now had the distraction of watching the two girls hovering round Johnny like bees to a honey pot. Cudgelling my brains into order, I tried to concentrate on our predicament. Lizzie would not thank me for wasting time fuming over a couple of flirtatious girls. Instead, I told Frank about Pedro's arrival.

‘That's good,' said Frank. ‘I've been wondering how we can get to see my family again. They'll obviously not let either of you in – I daren't show my face – but I had thought that maybe Pedro could take a message for us. No one would suspect him. But how to get him into their cell – that's the real challenge.'

The suggestion prompted me to an inspired thought. ‘Your mother.'

‘Pardon?'

‘Your mother. She's rediscovering the power of her voice. I bet they wouldn't be able to resist the
offer of a free concert – her and Pedro: an unbeatable bill. It's almost worth being arrested to hear it.'

‘That's not bad, Catkin,' commented Johnny, brushing a strand of Marie's hair off his face. I bit my tongue. I only wished he had his hands more worthily employed.

Now there's an idea.

‘If Marie's right about the Parisian people wanting to keep the conspirators locked up,' I said, ‘we've got to do something to make the public feel differently about the Avons.'

‘I know, Cat. It'll be too easy for the authorities to blame it all on foreigners,' agreed Johnny.

‘Well then, what do you think about Captain Sparkler coming out of retirement and beginning a new campaign on behalf of the Duke of Avon: the English peer who had the good taste to marry one of the people; the innocent swept up in the scandal around the king's flight?'

Johnny leaned forward quickly, dislodging Marie from his knee. He apologized and helped her on to the seat next to him. I hid a smile.

‘You know, that's a brilliant idea!' he said eagerly. He turned to his admirers. ‘Mesdemoiselles, do you know a good printer of political cartoons in Paris?'

Annette giggled. ‘Of course, Monsieur Johnny.'

‘Where?'

‘Here. You're surrounded by them. They're at liberty to print whatever they like in the Palais Royal.'

Johnny kissed her hand. ‘Thank you, mademoiselle. I am indebted to you.'

What about me? It was my idea, I thought grumpily.

Johnny got to his feet. ‘Let's go, Cat. No time like the present. I'll escort you home and get drawing.'

Giving me only time for the briefest of farewells to Frank, Johnny dragged me off in the direction of the Opera quarter.

‘You can't wait to sharpen your pencils, can you?' I asked.

‘Indeed I can't. It's been too long since I picked up my drawing things for a cause I believe in.'

I could see he was already planning the cartoon in his head. In this mood I was forgotten, so I had plenty of time to contemplate my foolish jealousy as I trotted to keep up. Marie and Annette were harmless – I knew that – so why did I feel so envious seeing them treating my friends in their free, affectionate manner? I knew my feelings for Johnny coloured my reaction to anything that concerned him, but Frank? What was that about?

Then the truth hit me, bringing me to a standstill as I saw myself for what I really was. The last few weeks seemed to have stripped me down to my essentials, revealing some unpleasant truths. I was afraid, mortally afraid, of being usurped. If other girls became special to Johnny and Frank, where did that leave me? Without my friends, as I had discovered since losing Drury Lane, I really had not a thing in my life that meant anything: no family, no home, no roots.

Johnny noticed I was no longer following and came back to fetch me. ‘Are you all right, Cat?' he asked.

‘Of course.' I gave him a false smile.

Johnny wasn't fooled. ‘No, you're not. Something's up. You're jealous, aren't you?'

I coloured. What I felt was nothing as simple as jealousy. He wouldn't understand how vulnerable I was feeling just at the moment.

‘Don't be silly; I'm not jealous.'

‘Of course you are. I saw your face when Marie flirted with Frank. It's nothing to be ashamed of – I can think of many worse people for you to be sweet on.'

He thought I was in love with Frank! This was getting too much.

‘You've got it all wrong . . .'

‘Aha!' Johnny tapped the side of his nose. ‘You want to keep it a secret – I understand. But I think I should warn you that even with the Avons being so progressive, I imagine they'll think twice about letting the next duke marry a . . . a . . .'

‘A what?' I was feeling angry with him – both for his stupid guesses and for his inference that I was not good enough for Frank even if I'd wanted him. ‘A beggar? A base-born street child with no
family? Don't you think I know I'm rubbish without you telling me?'

I pulled away from him and started to run up the street. I didn't want to talk to him – or anyone else who had a peerage and a fortune as a cushion to protect them from the life I knew. To hell with the lot of them – dukes, kings, rich men all!

I heard pounding footsteps and my arm was caught from behind. Johnny swung me round to look at him. He was furious.

‘Don't you ever call yourself rubbish in my hearing, Cat Royal! I will not put up with you spitting on your own reputation like that!'

‘So I should just let others do it for me, should I?'

‘Don't be silly, no one's called you that!'

‘No? What about Mr Tweadle, the ballerinas, half of London – and you – you were about to say it in so many words – admit it!'

‘I was not.'

We were beginning to attract a crowd with our raised voices but I didn't care. Johnny pulled me down a side alley and out of sight.

‘So, tell me, what were you going to say then?' I challenged him.

‘I was just going to say that they wouldn't want him to marry a commoner.'

‘That's it exactly. Common as muck, bred in the gutter – I've heard it all before, Johnny. I know what you mean – it's all right, you don't need to explain. It's fine for aristocrats like Frank to play at being poor, even all right for you to pretend to be a man of the people with your simple Mr Johnny Fitzroy routine, but when it comes to someone like me rising above her station, then alarm bells begin to ring.'

Johnny was lost for words. He didn't know he'd just walked in on a very private battle I was having with myself as to my own worth. As ever though, my mouth continued to run on long after it should have shut up.

‘You aristocratic revolutionaries can only bear so much change, can't you? It's just skin deep – literally! If it's an African or Indian – or, heaven forbid, a woman who wants her equality, then you start to panic.'

‘That's not true, Cat.' He had gone pale; I had struck a nerve.

‘Isn't it?'

‘Not with me.' He seemed confused that I had leapt from my opinion of myself to politics. ‘What's all this about, Cat?'

‘It's about you telling me I'm worth something when I know that you and everyone else don't really think so. I count for nothing – I have no property, no vote, no blue blood. I have nothing because what little I once had has been stolen and twisted to benefit someone else's pocket. So don't you go telling me I'm not rubbish! If I say I am, then I am.'

I had argued myself into the absurd position of defending my right to put myself down. I can't blame Johnny for being confused.

‘Stop it, Cat, stop it!' he said, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. ‘Why are you saying all these terrible things about yourself?'

‘Because they're true! If you hear it enough about yourself from everyone, then you start to believe them.'