‘Le Vestris!’ muttered J-F in excitement, bowing low to the visitor. Renard dropped the mop with a clatter.
‘No, no, monsieur, you must not treat your partner like that!’ The man moved lightly across the floor and swept the mop-dancer up in his arms. ‘Mademoiselle, you were enchanting.’ He twirled the mop and placed it reverently back in the corner. ‘Until I next have the pleasure. Gentlemen, ladies.’ He bowed to the company and left, a bemused Madame Beaufort trailing after him.
‘Who was that?’ I asked.
‘That? That was only Maria-Auguste Vestris, the principal dancer at the Opera,’ said J-F, his eyes shining with admiration. ‘He is the master – admired throughout Paris and beyond. There are few who wield more influence over the people than Le Vestris: when he dances, he is our heart and soul. We would all do anything for him. Surely you’ve heard of him?’
I was amused by J-F’s unexpected admiration for a ballet dancer – but then perhaps the arts were more valued in Paris than in London.
‘I think I have. I think he came to Drury Lane when I was little.’
‘Littler than you are already?’ queried Renard, giving the fire a poke. I could tell he was delighted to have entertained a celebrity in his kitchen so I did not begrudge J-F and Pedro the laugh at my expense. At least the ice between them had broken.
‘Thank you for my lesson.’ I suppressed a yawn. ‘I’d better get to bed before madame tells me off for consorting with strange mops in the kitchen.’
J-F stood up. ‘I’ll escort your friend home, Mademoiselle Cat.’ Pedro looked doubtful but J-F slapped him on the arm. ‘Remember, Monsieur Pedro, a friend of the Firecracker is a friend of mine.’
So now he remembered!
*
The news that the famous Monsieur Vestris had discovered me dancing in the kitchen with a young stranger had filtered through to the ballerinas. At practice the next morning, I could not ignore the whispers as I tried to concentrate on the exercises. Madame Beaufort was kinder than I anticipated: apparently we had impressed her guest with our show of ‘animal spirits’, as he had put it to her, so she did not reprove me. That left Mimi, Belle and Colette to make up for it.
‘I suppose the little moll is going to put it all in her next story – how she cavorted with a gutter-snipe before the great Vestris himself,’ whispered Mimi loud enough for me to hear.
‘Going down in the world, isn’t she?’ answered Colette. ‘I thought she had her cap set at that lord – now it seems she’ll pick anyone off the street.’
‘What do you expect? It’s where she came from. Like is attracted to like, they say.’
I tried to imagine their gossip as nothing more than the clatter of knives in a cutlery drawer, but some of their words cut me. I wasn’t used to being the object of envy. The girls wanted to think the worst of me and there seemed very little I could do to mend their opinion.
It was a relief to reach the end of lessons. Rather than dine with the dancers, I took a bowl of stew and sat on the front step with Renard. He pointed out the people on their way to take part in the Corpus Christi celebrations.
‘The processions are going ahead even with the king’s flight?’ I asked, watching a red-faced priest hurrying towards the centre of town, a rosary swaying at his side.
‘But of course. When we lose one certainty, we must cling to another.’ He crossed himself automatically.
I’d never been in a Catholic country before but had heard much of the extravagance of their festivals, and so was eager to see for myself. I could now hear the tantalizing strains of music in the distance.
‘What’s that?’
‘The choirs. The churches all parade their statues in the streets, seeing who can sing the loudest – it’s a fine show. Lots of pockets for the picking,’ he reminisced fondly.
‘So J-F will be busy?’
‘Yes, indeed.’
‘There’s one pocket I hope he has not picked.’ I spotted Johnny approaching on foot.
‘Off to see the show with him?’
‘Sadly not, monsieur. I’ve arranged to meet Frank to see how he is surviving in his new life.’
Renard chuckled. ‘Milord will certainly remember his time in Paris. No feather beds, no silks and satins where he’s staying.’
Johnny drew level with us and tipped his hat to my companion. He looked as if he’d passed a sleepless night – doubtless fretting about Lizzie. He still managed a smile for me. ‘Ready, Cat?’
‘Of course.’
‘So where are we going?’
‘The Palais Royal – it was J-F’s suggestion,’ I added to Renard.
Johnny presented me with his arm. ‘Why there?’
‘It’s the only place the police aren’t allowed to go, thanks to the king’s brother who owns it – royal privilege,’ explained Renard.
‘Ah, of course, murmured Johnny. ‘Philippe fancies himself as the opposition to his older brother so it’s the favourite place of all rogues and rebels.’
‘That’ll suit us then,’ I said.
We made our way south towards the river, heading for the rue St Honoré.
‘Did you make any progress today?’ I asked Johnny as we shouldered a passage through the crowd waiting on Place Louis le Grand. Johnny clapped his hand to his coat pocket automatically as a skinny girl darted between us. The girl turned round.
‘Don’t worry, monsieur: you’re safe while you’re with her!’ she called over her shoulder.
Johnny looked down at me. ‘What’s that?’
‘My friend, the king of thieves of the Palais Royal – he’s given me special privileges.’
‘So it would seem.’
‘As I was saying, any news?’
‘No,’ he sighed. ‘I’m trying to track down this Fersen character who had the coach taken round to the rue de Clichy but he’s disappeared – fled, they say. My next step is to confront the coach builder and see what he knows.’
‘My guess is he’ll know nothing for his own good.’