‘Catherine’s really devoted to Lady Elizabeth. It would mean everything to her if you’d let her see her friend.’
‘Well.’ The governor scratched his chin, looking down at me. Poking a finger in my eye, I raised a tear-filled gaze to him and let one droplet escape – I hadn’t lived all those years among actresses without learning a trick or two. ‘I’m ordered to keep the prisoners isolated until they’ve been questioned, but I suppose I could make an exception. It’s not as if the little girl is an English spy or anything!’ he joked.
‘Then we can see her?’ asked Johnny eagerly.
‘Not you, monsieur – I cannot bend the rules that far. No, just the little one. I’ll send for a guard to take her up.’
Johnny hid his disappointment. ‘Thank you, monsieur. You are very kind.’
My escort took me into the prison by a side entrance. We emerged into a huge vaulted chamber with four fireplaces, one on each wall. I did not need a history lesson to know that this room must date from many centuries before our modern age. Whatever noble use it had once, however, had been superseded by present requirements. The stone floor was muddied by the continual passage of boots; the sconces hosted cheap tallow candles, staining the ceiling with smudgy soot marks.
The guard led me from this vast chamber into the maze of passages where the prisoners lived. The lower floors were occupied by the poor who slept on straw like beasts, three or more to a cell. One man gazed at me hopefully through the bars on the door, hand outstretched as I passed.
‘Mademoiselle, for the love of Saint Geneviève, have pity!’
I looked down at my feet, embarrassed that I could offer no relief. The guard batted the man’s arms away with his rifle butt. We mounted a stone staircase. The upper floors had been given over to those who could afford to pay for the privilege of a private room, bed and furniture. Though it was night, it was still stuffy and airless up there; it must have felt like an oven during the summer day. You could not ignore the smell of too many bodies cramped together with no other sanitary arrangements than a bucket. Lizzie wasn’t built to withstand these conditions. We had to get her out quickly.
‘Voilà, mademoiselle,’ said the guard, pausing outside a door on his left. A sheet had been tacked to it, listing the occupants – the duke, duchess and Lizzie. ‘Monsieur the Concierge said to give you fifteen minutes. I will wait outside.’ He passed me a lantern.
‘Merci.’ I bobbed him a curtsey and waited for him to unlock and let me in. The door shut smartly behind me and the key turned.
‘Who is it? What do you want?’ demanded the duke. It was very dark in the cell and the light I was carrying must have blinded them for an instant.
‘Your grace, it’s only me – Catherine Royal.’
‘Cat!’ Lizzie leapt from her bed and threw herself on me. ‘What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were even in Paris.’
‘My dear!’ The duchess enfolded me in a hug. ‘Don’t say they’ve locked you up too?’
‘No, no. It’s not my turn this time,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘No, Johnny brought me.’
‘He’s here?’ Lizzie looked over my shoulder, expecting to see him at the door.
‘Yes, but he wasn’t allowed to see you. I’m not supposed to be here either but I convinced the governor I wouldn’t sleep without visiting you. He seems to think I’m about five, the way he’s treating me.’
Lizzie took the lantern and placed it on a table. ‘I don’t suppose you had anything to do with that, did you?’
‘Oh no,’ I said, eyes round and innocent.
The duke stepped forward, took my hand and said in a whisper, ‘We are very glad to see you, Miss Royal, but you should know that it is dangerous for you. If they arrested us, they must think any foreigner is under suspicion. You’re not safe.’
‘I’ll be fine, your grace. Don’t worry about me. Is there anything you need? I’ve got a basket here with some basic supplies.’
‘Thank you. That is very thoughtful.’ The duke sighed and moved back to the tiny window that let in only a faint breath of air. ‘I can hardly believe this has happened to us. I thought my rank . . . well, it seems not. I assume that your friend downstairs has alerted the English representative?’
‘Yes, sir – and I wrote to Mr Sheridan. I’m sure you won’t be kept here long. They’ll find out that it was all a mistake.’
‘Hmm.’ The duke sounded sceptical.
‘What’s wrong?’
Lizzie led me to a seat beside her on the bed. ‘We only wish we knew what our cousin, the Comte de Plessis, has been up to the last few days. He did take delivery of a large carriage the day before yesterday in our name – he said it was for touring, but it appears this was not the case.’
‘Ah.’
‘And he is a close friend of Count Fersen.’
Fersen? The name was familiar. Where had I heard it before?
‘From what we can gather, Count Fersen is a particular friend of the queen and was involved in arranging their departure. The carriage was used by the royal family in their escape.’
‘I see.’ This didn’t look good for anyone who’d been within a mile of that coach. ‘It sounds as if you need a lawyer.’
‘Correct, Miss Royal,’ interjected the duke. ‘Would you ask Lord Jonathan to arrange one?’
‘You should call him just Mr Fitzroy, your grace. It’s better if the people here think he’s American. I’ll ask him right away.’
There was a lull in the conversation and I had a chance to observe my friends more closely. Lizzie was pale, but otherwise calm. The duke’s nose was swollen and there was blood on his shirt front. The duchess had a distinctly rumpled look, with bruises on her wrists. It looked as if she had not adapted well to the indignity of imprisonment. Perhaps a few words of advice might not come amiss? After all, I’d been in their shoes once.