‘So, mademoiselle,’ said the bishop at length, ‘how are you enjoying Paris?’ He stroked the bridge of his nose thoughtfully. It looked as though it had been broken several times.
I took off my shoe to rub my blistered feet. ‘Oh, it’s just delightful. Every crowd I meet tries to hang me and every villain to rob me. And as for the night life, I’ve never been so entertained with threats to my own person since . . . well, I can’t remember when.’
The bishop laughed. ‘You have spirit, mademoiselle. What is your name?’
There seemed little point in hiding it from him. ‘Cat Royal.’
‘Well, Mademoiselle Cat, it is late and I’ve some work to do. If you would do me the honour of breaking your fast with me, we can postpone our little discussion until then.’
I shrugged. ‘As you wish. I hardly have any say in the matter.’
He stood up, taking off his ridiculous cloak and folding it. ‘Come, come, we must keep up appearances. You are my guest. I invite you to eat with me – I do not command.’
‘And where am I to wait for this much-to-be-anticipated tête-à-tête?’ I wondered if I was managing to convey sarcasm speaking in a foreign language. It was the only power left to me.
‘Here, of course, mademoiselle. I will have my men bring you some blankets. Is there anything else I can get you?’
‘Apart from the key out of here?’
His smile was thin – I was sailing dangerously close to annoying him. I buttoned up my tongue.
‘Thank you, monsieur. I would appreciate pen and paper. If tomorrow’s to be my last, I’ve letters I’d like to write.’
‘Of course, mademoiselle. And I’ll promise to deliver them whatever happens to their fair writer.’
‘You are too kind.’
‘You see, gallantry is not dead, even if you will be.’
Interlude – Set to solemn music by Handel
Paris, 23rd June 1791
My dear Patron,
I am writing what might turn out to be my last letter to you. I thought it best to complete it to earn another guinea as it might at least help pay my funeral expenses. That was meant to be a joke but unfortunately it is too close to the truth to seem funny even to me.
Here are the facts as I understand them: our friends from Grosvenor Square are still enjoying French hospitality; one sprig of the tree is at large but under threat; a bunch of cutthroats are holding me to ransom in the hopes of claiming the reward for turning him in.
That’s all the news from the family. As for the rest, you probably do not need to be told that the king is returning to Paris. The city remains quiet. My gut feeling is that people are beginning to realize that the sky did not fall on their heads when the Bourbons left town – this does not bode well for Louis. He, like me, might learn soon what it means to be expendable.
I have never forgotten your many years of kindness towards me. I send my love and best wishes for the future,
Your Diamond.
ACT IV
SCENE 1 – ENGLISH SPY
Woken by the sound of a door closing, I wriggled out of my cocoon of blankets and found myself alone. A fresh candle, two cups, a coffee pot and a basket of bread stood on a barrel. I guessed that meant it was morning. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, my recollections of the previous night returned and with them my fear. It was hard to know exactly what to think or feel. This wasn’t about me, as J-F had told me, but still I was the victim. I was a foot soldier caught up in the battle between two empires – forces beyond my control were in charge of my destiny. I didn’t like it one little bit.
Pacing the cellar, I tried to imagine what my friends were feeling – that’s if J-F had chosen to enlighten them to my plight, and I wouldn’t put it past him to remain silent if it suited him. Frank would demand to be exchanged for me – and he would be right as his fate was only prison with a good chance he might be freed when the truth about the king’s flight came out. But the reward skewed everything.
Relying on thieves for your safety was not a good idea, I decided. If I got a second chance, I wouldn’t do so again.
‘Bonjour, mademoiselle. I trust you slept well?’
The bishop was back for his breakfast. He was standing at the top of the steps looking down on me. I hadn’t heard him come in. He was carrying a sack over one shoulder.
I gave a contemptuous shrug.
He jumped down the steps, the bag clanking on every bound.
‘I presume you’ve brought the church plate with you?’ I asked, nodding at the sack.
‘Indeed so. I relieved some affluent citizens of their surplus as a donation to the poor. After all, it is harder for a rich man to enter heaven than for a camel to pass through an eye of a needle.’ He gave me a wicked grin. Charming he might be but I knew that those shining eyes of his were like wrecker’s lanterns: the sort to lure you off course on to the rocks of your destruction.
‘That was very charitable of you.’
He chucked the sack into a corner and turned to the breakfast tray. Lacing his fingers together, he bent them back, cracking his knuckles in preparation for the meal.
‘Has anyone ever told you that that is a very unattractive habit?’
‘Oh yes,’ he said with a wolfish grin, ‘two people. So I put them out of their distress.’
I decided to laugh at this, though for all I knew he really did kill people on such flimsy pretexts.
‘How thoughtful of you.’ I poured myself a cup of coffee from the pot on the tray, adding a couple of spoonfuls of sugar to mask the bitterness.
‘Now you understand me, Mademoiselle Cat.’
‘I don’t pretend to do that. I don’t have a clue, for example, what’s going on between you and J-F.’
He devoured a piece of bread, folding it to fit inside his mouth in one huge bite.
‘You should understand, mademoiselle, that Paris is a divided city. Each faubourg or district has its own identity – even its own government. Likewise, we gentlemen of the night have our own way of distributing the territory between us.’