‘I’m afraid you’re right.’
We rounded the corner into the rue St Honoré. Outside the convent of the Jacobins a man in a powdered white wig worn in two side rolls stepped out of the crowd to shake Johnny’s hand. They exchanged a few brief words while I stood back.
‘Who was that?’ I asked Johnny when we set off again.
‘Only a lawyer I know by name of Robespierre. Very committed to helping the poor. Bit of a cold fish but useful.’
‘Can he help with the Avons?’
‘I doubt it. He’s in parliament but doesn’t really have the ear of the men that count.’
‘Who does?’
Johnny thought for a moment. ‘Hard to say with the king gone but I suppose Lafayette – he’s a soldier, head of the National Guard – and Mayor Bailly. I’ve been trying to get to speak to them, so far to no avail. They’re both too busy dealing with the crisis to talk to an unimportant foreigner like me. But I won’t give up.’
We arrived outside the colonnade leading into the Palais Royal.
Johnny patted my hand. ‘Ready? Take a deep breath.’
We launched ourselves into the crowd pouring into the pleasure palace beyond. To a Londoner like me, it looked like Vauxhall Gardens and Piccadilly combined: two covered promenades full of clubs, cafés and shops, reverberating with noise and laughter, stretched on either side of the park. In the centre of the open space created by the galleries, tree-lined avenues were crowded with people coming to see and be seen. Here there was a mixture of high and low life such as I was used to at Drury Lane: guardsmen, gamblers, hawkers, students, women of good repute and of no repute at all.
‘Like it, Cat?’ asked Johnny with an affectionate smile at my expression.
‘Like it? I love it!’
He could barely pull me past the window of the little waxwork exhibition as I admired the bust of the pope and the king. I noticed that someone had knocked the latter’s crown askew. I was next absorbed by the poster for the Palais theatre that occupied a large part of the wall next door:
See the Wildman – caught in the Pyrenees!
Hear the mermaid sing!
For one night only, the puppet master of Turin!
Johnny wrinkled his nose. ‘Come on, Cat, I thought you had better taste than a freak show. I thought you were all for Shakespeare and Dryden.’
‘But a real mermaid, Johnny! I’ve never seen one of them.’
‘And you won’t here, believe me. It’s just some poor scantily clad woman squeezed into a costume.’
I let him pull me away but I couldn’t help wondering. This was France, after all, not London. Maybe they had mermaids here?
Johnny led me to a seat at the Corazza café and ordered some refreshment. Watching me, he began to laugh.
‘Stop it, Cat! Your eyes are out on stalks!’
I had been staring at a very fat man wobbling along like old gooseberry, accompanied by a tall, thin lady with a deep voice.
‘There’s something not right about that lady,’ I said, puzzled.
‘That’s because his name is Louvet – he’s in parliament. He likes to dress as a woman.’ Johnny snapped open a newspaper that was lying on the table as if it were perfectly normal to see members of the legislature walking round in evening gowns.
I felt a tap on my shoulder.
‘How are you, chérie?’ It was Annette, still wearing my old dress. With her was Marie and a rather sombre looking Frank. Joseph was standing aloof, keeping watch.
Marie shrugged at the footman as she took a seat. ‘I told Jo there was no need, but he doesn’t trust us.’
‘Oh, why would that be do you think?’ I asked innocently. ‘Was it because you stripped him of all his worldly goods and left him standing naked yesterday?’
‘Perhaps,’ she conceded.
I introduced Johnny to the girls. They gave him their most charming smiles and began to flirt with him – a game I discovered Johnny was skilled at playing. Their attention diverted, I had a chance to talk to Frank.
‘So, Frank, how are they treating you?’
‘Fine, Cat, fine.’ Frank seemed distracted.
‘What’s up?’
Suddenly, it all burst from him. ‘Do you know how these girls live? Imagine it: they don’t even have a bed to sleep in! Marie here – her father’s blind, lost his sight in the army, and has to beg for a living. Annette – she had to run away because her uncle used to beat her. Can you believe it?’
Of course I believed it, but it seemed Frank had only just discovered how the majority live. He had only been playing in London when he’d run with Syd’s gang, going home at night to his ducal residence; he’d obviously not stopped to think what the rest of us were going home to.
‘They don’t know where their next meal is coming from, they have no money unless they steal, they get treated like dirt on the streets. I’ve never known anything like it! No one I know lives like that.’
‘That’s not true, Frank,’ I said quietly, thinking back to my days sleeping rough.
‘Who do we know in London who has to put up with that?’
Poor, dear, innocent Frank. I felt both angry and sorry for him for being so blind. ‘Me for one. Most of Syd’s gang for two.’
Frank opened his mouth to protest, looked at me and closed it.
‘You’ve never noticed, have you? Never noticed that I survive on charity?’
‘You – charity? No, you always lived in Drury Lane Theatre. I can’t think of a better place.’
‘But did you ever look behind the gilt and velvet, Frank, and ask how we theatre folk got by? Where was my bed? Where did my meals come from?’
‘Well, erm . . .’
‘Exactly. You’re only seeing it now because you’re having to live it. Most people of your class never do that so they don’t see it either.’
Frank tugged at the ragged neckerchief he had knotted round his throat.
‘I suppose I am guilty of an acute lack of imagination, Cat. I’m sorry, I never thought to ask.’
‘None of us wanted you to. We have our pride.’