‘Very good, citizen. I’m sure it’s what every self-respecting monsieur on the left bank is wearing this season.’
J-F did not like us switching into English. ‘What did the English boy say?’ he asked me, taking my arm possessively. I suppose he was right to be wary: his prolonged existence depended on sharp wits and keeping one step ahead of the law.
‘He only asked if I admired his new suit of clothes,’ I replied, trying to soothe his ruffled feathers. ‘I told him I thought them very chic.’
J-F flung himself back on his throne. ‘But what did he call you, this . . . this “Cat”?’
So that was what was bothering him. ‘Oh, that: that’s my nickname. Cat – that’s English for le chat. My friends say I have nine lives and I always fall on my feet.’
J-F’s grin returned. He turned to Frank who had pushed his way through the crowd to join me. ‘And has she?’ he asked him.
‘Has she what?’ asked Frank, taking a gulp from the mug Marie handed him.
‘Has she got nine lives?’
‘I’d say she’s used up two or three of them if you count today.’ Frank watched with equanimity as his breeches went by on the legs of a tall black lad with tattoos on his face.
J-F took out Frank’s purse, poured the contents into his palm and handed the wallet back. ‘You have this. I’ll keep the rest as payment for your clothes.’
‘Of course, that’s very reasonable,’ said Frank, exchanging a look with me.
‘Reasonable, my lord!’ spluttered Joseph. He didn’t need to understand French to realize that his master was being asked to pay for the privilege of being deprived of his belongings. ‘This is daylight robbery!’
‘Of course it is,’ Frank replied, thrusting a mug in his footman’s hand. ‘Or we could look on it as the price for saving us from the mob. It’s going to happen anyway, so we might as well make the best of it as Cat has.’
‘Look and learn, Frank, look and learn,’ I replied with relish.
‘What did the giant say, milord?’ J-F asked Frank.
‘He was just expressing his thanks for your hospitality,’ said Frank with a bow to his host.
J-F laughed and clapped Frank on the back. ‘I like you, le chat – Cat – and Milord. You both understand how the world works.’
‘Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t,’ I admitted. ‘I think I got it slightly wrong this morning.’
Frank snorted into his drink. ‘Slightly! Not wearing the cockade and almost getting us all killed, she means.’
J-F shrugged. ‘Ah well, we all make mistakes and, in fairness to her, it’s not every day that the king goes missing.’
My own personal danger having driven the events of the day from my head, I now remembered I was supposed to be finding out for Mr Sheridan what the common people of Paris made of these developments.
‘And what do you think about losing your royal family, J-F?’
He gave me a long look before deciding to answer. ‘Don’t care as long as it doesn’t mean too many of the National Guard on the streets. If they are kept busy running about after Piggy Louis and off my back then I’ll be happy.’
‘So you’re not bothered that the king has gone – possibly to return at the head of a foreign army?’ asked Frank, intrigued by this casual attitude to whether or not the head of state was on the throne. His upbringing among English nobility had not allowed for the possibility that the common man might not care two hoots for the doings of his sort.
J-F rubbed his nose thoughtfully, pondering all facets of the situation. ‘I’m not sure what it’ll do for business. A bit of confusion is good, but blood running in the streets – soldiers – panic – no, I don’t like the sound of that. If he’s gone, I hope he’s gone forever. But it might not be a good time to be a foreigner in Paris.’ His eyes met mine, his expression serious: was he giving me a warning or merely referring to the events at the lamp post?
Frank put down his drink. ‘In that case, I think we had better be going before anything else happens to us. And I still have to call on my parents.’
I rose to take my leave. ‘Thank you, J-F. It has been most . . . illuminating meeting you and your people.’
The little king conducted me to the door. ‘Come back any time, Cat – Milord. You have my word of honour that you will have safe conduct through my kingdom.’
‘For a price, no doubt,’ I added.
‘For a price,’ he agreed, kissing my hand.
*
Transformed by our experiences among the thieves into the garb of lower class Parisians, we attracted no attention as we made our way back to our lodgings. The pavements were busy; everywhere I looked I saw people gathered in huddles to debate the day’s news, but no sign of panic.
‘Well, that was a most educational experience. The lengths you go to to get rid of a dress you hate astound me, Cat,’ commented Frank as we stood on a street corner to allow a messenger to gallop past. Frank glanced at his map. ‘He’s heading away from the National Assembly. I wonder who’s in charge now?’
Now that the head of the country had chucked in his crown and scarpered, he meant. Would old London be as calm under similar circumstances? I wondered. Mind you, we chopped the head off a king last century – that was before having the cheek to invite his son to come back a decade or so later to pick up where his dad had left off. We seemed to have survived the episode so I supposed that the French would too. Now I came to think about it, as I studied the kingless streets of Paris, what were royalty for really? Perhaps they weren’t needed after all?*
‘Frank, have you ever wondered what purpose a king serves?’ I asked, speaking my thoughts aloud as we passed a group of men gathered around a notice pasted up on a brick wall.
My friend eyed me shrewdly. ‘What’s this? Treason, Cat?’