It felt wonderfully liberating to think the unthinkable – and then to say it out loud with no fear of reprisals. ‘Answer the question, Frank. If a king has real power, isn’t it stupid to trust to chance that his parents won’t produce a dunce?’
Frank shrugged. ‘It’s tradition. Besides, it’s all in the hands of God.’
‘And if the king’s only a figurehead,’ I ploughed on, ‘then what’s the point of that? Isn’t it an expensive luxury – all those princes and princesses, palaces and servants to pay for?’
‘I can’t believe you just said that, Cat, you sound just like a republican.’ Frank shook his head as if diagnosing me with some incurable disease.
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Everything. England is not – and never will be – a republic. Oh, it’s all right to think like that for new countries with tiny populations like America, but for big countries like ours and France, it would be a disaster.’
‘Why? From what I can see around me the world hasn’t come to an end for these people. Look, she’s still carrying her basket to market and he – well, he’s found time to pick his nose.’
‘A most uplifting spectacle. I’m sure we’d all just love to be ruled by the likes of him. Without a king to unite the country, this place will fall apart. You need a strong man in charge.’
He sounded very pompous – not like the normal Frank.
‘Stop talking to me as if you’ve got a poker stuck up the proverbial. Strong man, indeed!’ I scoffed.
‘Well, look what happened when we had a woman in charge of our walking party this morning!’ he said wickedly. ‘Almost hanged by your oh-so-enlightened masses and then fleeced of all our worldly goods by a dwarfish thief and his bunch of merry men.’
‘And what happened when we had a man in charge of map-reading yesterday? Scared a flock of nuns, deafened a beggar and frightened some poor soul out of her wits by leaping out upon her in the dark . . .’ I stopped suddenly. ‘You don’t think . . . No, it can’t have . . .’
‘What are you rambling on about?’
‘That woman – in the alleyway behind the palace last night – remember how well-spoken she was? You don’t think that . . .?’
Frank realized where I was going with my speculation. Our argument forgotten, he said nothing for a few moments. ‘Well, if she did have anything to do with the royal family’s disappearance then we’d better keep quiet about it. We almost got killed this morning on a whim; we wouldn’t want to get tangled up with all this. Who knows what revenge they’ll take on anyone connected with the king’s flight?’
Argue though we might about kings, I certainly agreed with Frank on this. We would mention what we’d seen to no one and just hope the drunken coachman would do the same.
We arrived back at Madame Beaufort’s lodgings as a nearby clock sounded midday.
‘Oh blast! I’m so late: she’ll kill me!’ I exclaimed as it dawned on me that I had missed two hours of ballet while I had been making my acquaintance with death Parisian style.
‘Poor Cat,’ grimaced Frank. ‘I completely forgot you have balletic duties. You’d better go straight up.’
Leaving Frank and Joseph to make themselves decent for a call on the Avons, I ran upstairs, two at a time, and burst into the practice room where all the dancers were gathered. They were standing in a long line, looking at themselves critically in a wall of mirrors, bending and swaying like willow trees in a breeze. In contrast to the hustle of the streets I had just left, the quiet in the room was a shock.
My entrance broke the concentration in the room as surely as a hot pin lancing a boil lets the pent-up unpleasantness spurt out.
‘If there is one thing I cannot abide, it is lateness,’ rapped Madame Beaufort, bearing down on me like an angry poodle, her mass of hair wobbling in time with the shake of her head.
‘I am sorry, madame, but I have a very good excuse. When you hear what happened –’
‘I do not want to hear excuses – there is no special treatment for anyone in my ensemble.’ Her gaze alighted on my new clothes. ‘And what is that you are wearing?’
I opened my mouth to explain.
‘Never mind, no time to change now. To the barre and copy Belle.’
‘But don’t you want to hear about the king . . .?’
‘Quiet! Dance! By Saint Anne, you have more than enough to learn without being the only one to miss our lessons!’
Clearly nothing short of an earthquake would prevent Madame Beaufort from putting her girls through their paces. I took my place at the end of the row of dancers and turned to face the mirror. I looked so out of place, it was laughable. Belle, my neighbour, was tall and graceful, dressed in a loose white practice gown; I was short, angular and decidedly rumpled in my patched striped skirt and apron. As for learning to dance, who did Madame Beaufort think she was fooling? I had no more chance of succeeding than a monkey of writing Hamlet.
Swish! The rod tapped my wrist.
‘Bend it so, Cat. Imagine your hands are exclamation marks to your movements, not full stops.’ Madame Beaufort curled her own palm over the back of my wrist, easing it into the required shape. I was taken aback to hear anything so poetic from her. ‘See, you can do it when you try.’
Gazing at myself in the mirror, I understood what she meant. If I thought of myself as awkward, my body behaved accordingly; if I forgot myself and let the music flow through me, I became far more elegant.
Oh no, I’m beginning to think like a ballerina! Help! It must be the after-effect of the events of the morning. I frowned at my reflection. Thank goodness nothing else could possibly happen today.
Just as this comforting thought had floated through my mind, the door banged open and Frank erupted into the room. Seizing me roughly by the arm, he dragged me after him, knocking dancers over like ninepins.
‘Apologies, madame, but I have to speak to Cat urgently,’ he shouted over his shoulder.
‘My lord!’ she exclaimed in protest, but he slammed the door behind us.