Le Vestris showed me into his carriage and within seconds we were rattling out of the bishop’s diocese. I sank back against the cushions, still reeling from the abrupt changes in my fortune. It was as if I was on a merry-go-round, faces spinning before me as my dizziness increased with every turn of fate. Feeling giddy, I closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them again, I saw my rescuer watching me with fatherly concern from the seat opposite.
‘Did they mistreat you, mademoiselle?’
I shrugged. ‘No more than I’m used to.’
‘So I remember – you were never a cosseted child.’
‘Pardon, monsieur? I don’t understand . . .’
‘Little J-F reminded me today of my time at Drury Lane. I think we have met before, Mademoiselle Cat.’
I felt an ache for my home as he spoke – a glimpse of a paradise from which I was now shut out. ‘We did?’
‘Perhaps you do not recall my season in London? I was guest dancer at the ballet in your Theatre Royal; I believe I met with some acclaim,’ he added modestly. ‘But you were an infant then – how could you remember? Still, I recollect you very well: Sheridan’s little ginger stray, they called you. You were always in sight, either curled up at his feet or tucked away somewhere backstage – three or four years old, I guess. You were not a favourite with everyone though – I seem to remember seeing you chased off from time to time, scurrying up the ladders out of reach of a sharp tongue or the back of someone’s hand.’
I grimaced. ‘That’s true enough.’ I had to admit it was by no means always a paradise for me.
‘And perhaps that little girl would not have stuck in my memory if it hadn’t been for your remarkable curls: they were what bobbed to the surface when J-F told me all about you. Now, it seems our future lies together for a short while and if so, then we will have to hide those for the performance.’ Le Vestris pointed to the bruises blooming on my arms from where Scarface had squashed me against the door. ‘Fortunately I have prepared a character costume for you.’
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. The principal dancer of the Opera de Paris was serious! This wasn’t a ruse dreamt up by J-F. I knew from my time among the ballerinas at Drury Lane that a character costume was an adaptation of a peasant dress – bodice with mid-calf full skirt. At least it was a relief not to be making a fool of myself in the filmy robe of the danseuse or sheathlike dress of the demi-caractère. There were strict rules of dress for ballerinas reflecting their role in the production – presumably my role was to expose how accomplished everyone else was.
‘Are you sure this is a good idea, monsieur?’ I asked.
Le Vestris smiled. He had an expressive face, well used to projecting emotion to the back rows of the Opera. Even off-stage every gesture he made was exaggerated and graceful. ‘You have done me a favour, mademoiselle. I have had my eye on that little rogue J-F for months – he’s a natural dancer, as you saw the other evening. Before he rose to his current eminence, he used to dance at the Palais Royal theatre. So, when he asked me to act as go-between, I knew at once what my price would be.’
‘J-F sent you?’ That was unexpected. My faith in humanity was partially restored after the serious battering of the last few weeks.
‘Of course. He believed I was the only one who could persuade that young Arab to surrender you in one piece. It seems he was right. It is rather flattering, I must admit, to find my reputation has earned me so much respect in the more . . . er . . . interesting classes in our city.’
I looked out of the carriage window. It was true. Those that recognized the dancer’s carriage stood to attention and removed their caps as he passed. They were in awe of their favourite celebrity. Le Vestris waved a cheerful acknowledgement.
‘If you do not mind, mademoiselle, we will proceed directly to the Opera. You have much to learn if you are to make a creditable debut on Saturday.’
He could say that again.
SCENE 2 – CONCIERGERIE PRISON
Fortunately, all I was expected to do that night was watch the show. Le Vestris led the way backstage and sat me in the wings next to the man in charge of the curtains. From this side view of the stage, I could see a segment of the boxes filled with chattering Parisians, the cello players tuning their instruments, a piper warming his fingers by playing flourishes like outbursts of birdsong. A large chandelier lit the stage, light spilling out into the auditorium, picking out the gilt and glitter of the decorations edging the boxes, flashing off jewels and opera glasses. Swags of red, white and blue looped the walls, declaring the Opera’s allegiance to the revolution. Behind me, the ballerinas were limbering up, touching their toes and stretching their arms above their heads. I felt at home: the stage was on a larger scale than Drury Lane, but the smells and the sounds – all these were essentially the same. My heart beat with sympathetic excitement as the moment of performance approached.
‘So, the little stray has returned.’ Mimi was at my back, looking none too pleased to see me, behind her Colette and Belle. They were dressed in peasant costume with their long hair wound into plaits over their ears like badly made croissants.
‘Why, were you missing me?’ I asked, tired of their banter.
‘How they let you get away with it is beyond me,’ tutted Colette. ‘Marched off to the city hall, out all night with a band of vagabonds – I can’t imagine Madame Beaufort allowing us to do that.’
‘Mesdemoiselles, positions please!’ Mimi’s words were cut short by the stage manager. The ballerinas scurried off in a patter of cork-soled shoes. I was pleased to see the back of them: their constant sniping at me was beginning to depress my spirits. It seemed they were never going to accept me.
The conductor entered to the applause of the house. As he took his place, I noticed a small black violinist sitting near the podium. So Pedro had landed himself a new job.
A hand landed on my shoulder as I craned forward to catch a better view of my friend. I jumped.
‘Careful, Catkin: the stage manager won’t be pleased if your head is spotted by the audience.’
‘Johnny!’