He pulled me back with him into the shadows of the wings as the strains of the overture began. Taking my shoulders, he turned me round and inspected me.
‘Those thieves didn’t hurt you?’
‘Not much. But I’ve got so much to tell you.’ I quickly informed him of the suspicions running rife that there was an English spy in the Avon circle. ‘It seems I only made it worse writing that letter to Sheridan to ask for his help. The bishop suspects me – but I think Mayor Bailly has his eye on Frank or Joseph. The mayor seemed to think I was too empty-headed to be a threat – he let me go with nothing more than a telling-off.’
Johnny frowned. ‘And this bishop: what is he like?’
‘He’s a street Arab – as sharp as they come. Ruthless and charming.’
‘Well, at least we know where we stand with him. We know we can’t trust him, whereas I must say your little friend J-F has kept me guessing all day. I wasn’t sure I could believe him when he said he knew how to rescue you. You’ve given us a terrible time since last night – we’ve all been worried.’ Johnny bit his lip. He looked tired out with fretting about me and Lizzie.
‘You weren’t the only one, Johnny. I wasn’t sure my luck was going to hold. But how’s Lizzie? Did Pedro get in to see the Avons with a bribe of a free concert?’
Johnny nodded. ‘Though I doubt he should go again – we don’t want them suspecting him of spying after what you’ve told me. He didn’t mention your predicament to the Avons – we didn’t want to alarm them, thinking they had enough to worry about.’
‘And how are they?’
‘In some ways, much better. The duchess has charmed the governor with the recital she and Pedro gave him and his lady wife, and as a result their conditions have improved. They now have access to a courtyard; the food’s edible and they’ve been given candles. The English representative visited today and is pounding his fist on the desks of the bureaucrats to get the Avons released. Things might also move faster when we get this printed.’ He pulled out a scroll of paper from his jacket pocket: it was a rough of his cartoon of the Avons, the duke portrayed as a loyal friend of the revolution trapped with his songbird (the duchess) in a cage. ‘Marie is seeing it through the press for me.’
‘Excellent! I can’t wait to see it in print. And Lizzie?’
He frowned. ‘As well as can be expected. A little pale, according to Pedro, and she has a bad cough, but she’s not complaining.’
‘Oh, Johnny.’ I squeezed his hand. Lizzie was the last person who should be locked up in a pestilential prison.
‘So we’d better hurry up and get them out, Catkin,’ he said with a brave smile, returning the pressure on my fingers. ‘I’ll see you at the end of the performance and walk you home.’
I watched the ballet from the wings with growing despair. Not only did the prospect of participating in it in a few days fill me with dread, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Lizzie. Sitting so close, I could hear every thump and squeak of the boards as the dancers leapt and twirled. They flitted by, masking the effort they were making with bland smiles; they were like my friend – putting on a false air to deceive the onlooker as to their true feelings. Lizzie was doubtless trying to hide her illness in order not to alarm her parents. What if she became dangerously sick? I couldn’t bear it if we lost her, especially when she was so close to realizing her hopes of happiness with Johnny.
A light touch like a spider tickled my neck. I shivered.
‘Mademoiselle Cat.’ J-F bowed and grinned at me. ‘I freed you from the clutches of the church, no?’
I curtseyed, returning his smile. ‘Indeed, monsieur, I am in your debt.’
He linked arms with mine, bobbing on the balls of his feet in time to the music. ‘Unfortunately, the bishop still claims you as his parishioner. Why would that be, do you think? He knows I’ll never give up milord for so little profit to myself.’
The unspoken confession that J-F would betray Frank if enough were offered gave me a sudden alarm.
‘J-F, what have you done with Frank?’
‘Don’t worry,’ he patted my arm. ‘He’s safe. But you haven’t answered my question.’
‘Which one?’ I knew full well what he meant but I did not want to mention the bishop’s suspicions about me. Who knew what opportunities for himself J-F would see in this little bit of information?
‘About the bishop.’ J-F was looking shrewdly at me but I kept my eyes on the dusty toes of my shoes.
‘Perhaps he just wants to see what a terrible dancer I am.’
‘But you won’t be terrible!’ J-F put his hand around my waist and began to dance me around the wings in time to the music. ‘We are both born to do this. Your mother must have been a dancer like mine – or your father perhaps?’ He wove around Mimi and Belle, giving them a wink as they made an elaborate fuss about him brushing against their skirts. ‘Maybe Terpsichore herself gave birth to you.’
I had to smile. ‘I doubt it – most people think my mother was a beggar or worse.’ We spun into the corridor leading to the stage door.
‘Down with most people, Cat!’ J-F stopped dancing and gave me a stern look. ‘If you have no origins, you are free to invent something that has poetry – indeed, it is your duty. I, King of the Thieves, command it!’
I then realized that, for all the dancing around each other the last few days in our strange game of trust and mistrust, I was looking into the face of a kindred spirit. How often had I made up parents for myself, believing that such dreams did no harm and much good, a defence against the unpleasant truth that I had been abandoned? J-F was the first to have ever encouraged me to do this. He understood.
‘I will, your majesty.’
He took my hand. ‘You might not know it, Cat, but you are luckier than some. I have to invent my stories to do away with a parent I wish I didn’t know. At least you have a blank canvas to work on.’