The guard shrugged. ‘No idea, mademoiselle. I am merely doing my job.’
I looked up at Johnny, my expression asking, what should I do?
‘Don’t worry, Cat,’ he said in a low voice. ‘This isn’t an arrest – it’s just to help with their enquiry. They’re bound to release you after the interrogation.’
‘What do you think they want with me?’
‘I guess it’s about our friends. Be discreet and you’ve nothing to fear.’ He turned to the guard. ‘Monsieur, my companion is only young. May I come with her?’
The guard raised his eyebrows. ‘And who are you, monsieur?’
‘Jonathan Fitzroy – an American citizen.’
‘So you are no relation?’
‘No, monsieur. A friend.’
‘Then I’m afraid not. We will take good care of her. If she is released, you can come and fetch her from the Town Hall later.’
If!
‘Come along, mademoiselle. Quickly now: we mustn’t keep the mayor waiting.’
For all his encouraging words, Johnny looked alarmed to see me frogmarched off by two tall members of the guard.
‘I’ll be fine!’ I called to him, knowing he had enough on his hands worrying about Lizzie. ‘Just tell the concierge where I am.’ And there was no harm letting the king of thieves know I had been taken. Who knew what connections he would have that might prove useful?
SCENE 3 – THE BISHOP OF THE NOTRE DAME THIEVES
It was a long walk from the Opera quarter to the Town Hall – a humiliation I had to go through before the eyes of all the people on the streets celebrating Corpus Christi. My escort said nothing to me, leaving me free to hear the suspicious whispers that followed our passage through the crowds. I was relieved when we arrived at our destination: a palatial building level with Notre Dame on the right bank of the Seine.
‘Voilà, mademoiselle,’ said my guard. ‘We are here.’
‘A moment please.’ I sat down on a stone bench outside and took off my shoe, ostensibly to remove a pebble, but really to see if anyone was watching. I would’ve been surprised if the thieves had not taken action by now. Sure enough, a familiar sharp face was watching us from a doorway across the square. J-F nodded when he saw that I had spotted him. Restoring my shoe after much shaking, I thanked the guard for waiting and let them lead me inside.
It was reassuring that they had taken me into the public area of the building, an ornate space of polished floors and grand staircases. If I had been in worse trouble, surely I would have been put in a cell? I had enough experience of falling foul of the law to know that they didn’t waste carpet on suspects.
I followed the guards upstairs, having to run to keep up with their strides. The place was buzzing with activity and few spared us a glance as they went about their business keeping the City of Paris ticking over during the crisis.
My guard opened the door to an antechamber furnished with white and gilt chairs that stood against the walls like ladies in a ballroom waiting to be asked to dance.
‘Remain in here. The mayor will be with you as soon as possible.’
This was to be expected. Questioning one English girl was doubtless at the bottom of the mayor’s ‘To Do’ list. I remembered Johnny had told me he hadn’t even been able to get an interview with Mayor Bailly. Perhaps I should look on this unwelcome interruption as an opportunity to learn more? The questions he asked me were bound to give a clue as to what connections the authorities thought the Avons had with the whole business of the king’s flight.
Time passed. It was getting dark outside now and a servant came in to light the candles, giving me a friendly nod as he left. I kicked my heels and hummed the tune we had danced in the kitchen the night before. Still no one came. I took off my shoes and rubbed my tired toes. Perhaps they had forgotten me? Getting bored of sitting on the same chair, I stood up in my stockinged feet and began to go through the steps I had learned, turning and hopping as J-F had taught me.
A door banged open just as I finished a pirouette. I sprang to attention to find myself under the gaze of five gentlemen. Thinking I might as well make the best of it, I swept them a low curtsey as instructed by Madame Beaufort – hand curved elegantly to my breast.
‘Who’s this?’ barked a harassed-looking man standing at the front.
‘The English girl. The ballerina, Monsieur le Maire,’ said a young man clutching a sheaf of papers.
Mayor Bailly directed a thin smile at his companions. ‘I can see the latter part for myself, Donville. Remind me why she’s here.’
‘The Duke of Avon, monsieur.’
Mayor Bailly clicked his fingers. ‘But of course. It’s been a long day. Follow us, mademoiselle.’ He began striding down the corridor.
Hopping into my shoes, I cursed all men who forgot that short girls do not possess the same long legs as them.
Bailly marched into his office and threw himself into a chair behind a desk piled high with papers. I took my first good look at the man in charge of Paris, wondering what he would do with me. Johnny had said that Bailly was a distinguished astronomer before the revolution swept him to his current position and I thought that he still had the earnest look of a scholar: high cheekbones, a strong, slightly hooked nose and heavy lidded eyes that had probably spent far more time than was healthy staring through a telescope. Indeed, his gaze did seem as though his thoughts were fixed on something beyond the room rather than on those present. Was he merely thinking of the king coming back under escort from Varennes or the craters on the moon that he had been the first to spot?
‘Well, mademoiselle, what can you tell us about the whereabouts of the Duke of Avon’s son?’ he asked, his eyes losing their dreamy look and focusing on me as he dragged himself back to business.