‘Well, then,’ I continued, ‘why expect all aristocrats to be the same? Surely you know better than that here in the Palais Royal? As the judge in this court of yours, Monsieur J-F, I’d’ve thought you’d know the importance of not being prejudiced against people without evidence.’
‘Perhaps,’ the little judge conceded with a bow.
‘And where would a good thief be without the rich to steal from? A dairymaid needs a cow to milk; a thief a fat purse. If you do away with them all, you do away with your livelihood.’
‘Hear, hear!’ muttered a few in the audience.
‘So you see, you shouldn’t let a pair of fine breeches bother you: you should see the wearer as an opportunity for enrichment.’
‘Oh, I’m not bothered by him,’ said J-F lazily, nodding at the duke’s son. ‘It’s you I can’t work out. State your name before the court.’
‘Catherine Royal.’
‘Ah, that Royal again. Very suspicious. Father?’
‘No idea.’
There was a cheer from behind me.
‘That’s more like it,’ said J-F with a pleased smile. ‘Mother?’
‘Not the foggiest.’
Applause greeted this statement.
‘So what is a base-born girl like you doing walking round with a noble like him?’
‘Well, I’d have told you from the start if you’d given me a chance.’ I rolled my eyes with obvious exasperation. ‘I was abandoned as a baby on the steps of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane –’
‘A very honourable start to life,’ commented J-F to Marie.
‘I was raised by the theatre folk and that was where I met Frank. We’re friends – just friends,’ I added severely as Annette giggled. ‘A couple of weeks ago, the theatre closed so I’ve come to learn to be a ballet dancer with a troop belonging to a Madame Beaufort.’
‘A dancer? The most respected profession,’ J-F remarked, rising to pirouette on the spot, ribbon rippling behind him.
‘As Frank was coming here to visit his family, we decided to travel together.’
‘So who is he, this Frank?’ J-F circled my friend, flicking the ribbon at him, a gesture at once playful and menacing. Frank flinched back.
‘A theatre-goer.’ I kept very quiet about the dukedom.
J-F let the ribbon flutter into Marie’s lap, and scratched his head. He seemed on the point of letting us go but something was bothering him. Suddenly, he leapt back to his throne and announced with a sweep of his arm:
‘It’s no good. Kill them!’
‘What!’ I’d thought I’d won him over. I had begun to congratulate myself on my cleverness.
‘I don’t like them. Get rid of them!’
‘You don’t like us!’ I shouted as two boys sprang forward to restrain me from slapping his face. ‘Well, at least I’m not a lice-ridden dwarf with an inflated sense of his own importance.’ J-F stopped scratching and sat down with a delighted smile, infuriating me even more. My French was not quite up to the task of insulting someone properly, but I was giving it my best shot. ‘I can’t understand how your mates stand it: you stink like the poisonous gas from a cow’s backside. You’re nothing more than a grub on a rat’s posterior.’
The thieves were now laughing and cheering me on. J-F was gazing at me as if I was the most marvellous thing he’d ever seen. ‘Go on, firecracker, keep up the crackling. If you give me just two more up to that standard, I’ll let you all go.’
So he’d done this on purpose to make me explode! ‘You’re a pile of rotting offal from a diseased pig.’ His mouth twitched. I was on to his game. I had better make the last one my best. ‘You’re a lying, thieving . . .’
‘Now, now, don’t spoil it with compliments,’ J-F said modestly.
‘. . . low-down steaming pile of dog dirt fired from the behind of a rabid mongrel.’
This got the biggest cheer yet. I heard several ‘hear, hears!’ from the crowd. Marie was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.
J-F jumped to his feet, bringing an imaginary gavel down on the barrel beside him. ‘Free them. The prisoners are acquitted on the grounds that she is as foul-mouthed as the best of us – and they because . . . well, because they’re her friends and, as she had said, I should not be prejudiced.’ He skipped over Marie to land beside me, grabbed my shoulders and saluted me on the cheeks three times. ‘Welcome to France, sister.’
‘A drink for our guests!’ announced Marie, following J-F in kissing me.
Annette reappeared with five mugs balanced on a tray. The little thief-king took two, handed me one and clinked his own against it. ‘To the nobility of the gutter everywhere!’
I raised my drink in return, noticing as I did that my friends were still bound like chickens ready for the oven. ‘Isn’t it about time you freed them?’ I suggested. ‘And . . . er . . . got them some clothes?’
J-F frowned. From the flash of scarlet among the crowd of boys, I guessed that Joseph’s livery was now adorning some fortunate favourite. Another was dancing about with the footman’s wig askew on his head. ‘I understand that you may still require the original garments as . . . um . . . evidence . . .’
‘Ah, yes, evidence . . .’ echoed J-F archly, his eyes sparkling.
‘. . . But, as they’ve been acquitted, perhaps the court could spare them the indignity of walking the streets of Paris in their birthday suits?’
J-F grinned and clicked his fingers. Four boys descended on Frank and Joseph, whipped off their gags and ropes and produced a motley selection of clothes to cover the bare essentials. Joseph looked outraged, Frank amused, to find themselves transformed into working men of France, complete with floppy red caps and cockades. Joseph, being a man of great stature, was now wearing trousers that ended halfway up his legs and appeared none too pleased at the exchange for his smart Avon livery. He shot me an angry look. But what did he imagine I could do about it? He was lucky to be decently clad.
Frank held out his arms and turned round for my benefit. ‘What do you think, Cat?’ he called over the heads of J-F’s boys.