‘You’d like to give me beauty tips, would you, little redhead?’ said a man’s voice. The accent wasn’t Parisian – it reminded me of an Egyptian snake charmer who’d once performed at Drury Lane.
Still on my knees, I looked up at six foot of brightly coloured person towering over me. A coat hung with ribbons and silk handkerchiefs like some kind of robe draped from his shoulders to the floor. A mane of shaggy black hair hung down his back. I stood up, straightening my skirts, gaining little advantage as I still did not rise above his chest. A pair of shrewd dark eyes in an olive-skinned face inspected me. He had the cruel beauty of a bird of prey. I had no doubt he had killed before and would again.
‘Well, Monsieur Bishop, with a face like yours, you really don’t need any advice from me,’ I said, seeing what flattery would do for me, ‘but neither do I understand why you would want to deprive anyone of the pleasure of looking at you.’ I glanced to my right and saw that J-F was strapped to a post. We were in some kind of underground cellar with a vaulted ceiling, surrounded by barrels of wine. J-F looked worried. Not a promising sign.
‘You are too kind, mademoiselle,’ the bishop replied, taking my arm and leading me to sit on the step up to his chair. He moved with powerful grace like a lion pacing his domain. ‘But if you live like us, you will understand that the fewer who can identify you, the safer you are. I don’t like having too many people running around Paris knowing what I look like.’
I gulped, working out that I had now joined that endangered group. ‘I suppose it’s not too late to put the hood back on?’ I asked. ‘I have a terrible memory for faces.’
‘Unfortunately, mademoiselle, you strike me as just the kind of person to have an acute memory and besides, we all want to see you – J-F, I have no doubt, wants to have a clear view of you as we conduct . . . our business. It will help concentrate his mind.’
If concentrating his mind involved putting me in distress I wasn’t planning to stay any longer than I must. I knew I was in the presence of a very formidable person and his intentions towards me did not appear benign. Escape seemed the best option. Continuing to listen hard, I looked for some way out. The cellar was crowded with at least eight of the bishop’s men, three of the burliest standing by the door. No escape through them. I’d have to do this by my wits and not by hoping to make a lucky dash for it.
‘Well, Petit Roi, I am delighted you could make time to come to confession,’ said the bishop glibly, settling down on his chair.
‘I’m pleased you are pleased,’ said J-F with an attempt at his old bravado.
‘So, tell me, why were you in my territory?’
‘I was showing my friend here the sights of Paris.’
‘Indeed. And giving Bailly’s bulldogs the slip into the bargain.’
J-F smiled nervously. ‘That too, your eminence.’
‘You know I have the right to slit your throat for being out of bounds,’ said the bishop in a friendly tone, putting his feet up – on my shoulder. ‘But I like you and don’t want to do away with such an adversary for so slight a thing.’
‘Adversary?’ queried J-F quickly. ‘I always looked on us as business associates occasionally in competition with each other.’
‘In that case I have a business proposition for you. I understand that a foreign traitor has gone to ground in your patch – possibly with your connivance, but I can’t believe that of you, good citizen that you are.’ J-F bowed. ‘I am minded to pick up the reward for him to help tide me over some temporary monetary difficulties I’m experiencing. Send him along to me and we’ll forget about today’s little incursion.’
‘You are most kind. But what makes you think that once out of here I will hand anyone over to you?’ J-F’s eyes glinted with a hardness to match the bishop.
The bishop smiled. ‘I thought we would get to that – and I think you know the answer.’
J-F glanced at me.
‘That’s right. Your little friend will pay the penalty you should’ve paid for your trespass.’
J-F shrugged. ‘So be it. She’s nothing to me.’
I wasn’t sure if he was lying. It’s always best to deny the value of a thing if someone else has it. On the other hand, perhaps I really was of no matter to the mercurial J-F – a sigh of regret, a frown and then he’d forget me.
‘In that case, you can collect her body from the Seine when we’ve finished with her. You have until midnight tomorrow to decide just how much she’s worth to you.’
This wasn’t good – not good at all. My life for Frank? Or would J-F just abandon me, hand Frank over to the authorities himself and pocket the money? I mean, what did I really know about the king of thieves except that he was good at stealing?
‘Cut him loose and boot him out the back door,’ said the bishop.
Scarface seized J-F by the scruff of the neck, but he twisted free and scrambled to stand in the space before the Bishop.
‘Ibrahim, think!’ J-F said breathlessly, sweeping a hand at me. ‘Where’s your gallantry to a female? She’s nothing to do with us. It’s not fair to use her like this.’
He must be on very shaky ground if he was appealing to a rival’s better nature. My heart sank a fraction deeper.
‘First names, J-F? We must be desperate,’ chuckled the bishop, stretching lazily in his chair, dislodging me from my step with his boot. ‘And I’m sure she’s everything to do with the business or why was Bailly having her followed? I was intending to have a little discussion with her about this while we were waiting for you to decide what to do. Hurry along now.’
J-F cast me one last anxious look before he was unceremoniously bundled back up the stairs. His expression was too close to an apology for my liking. It seemed I was on my own.
Silence fell in the room as the bishop and I listened to the sounds of J-F being escorted from the premises.