I nodded. What else could I do? I was now dancing with the master. When he spun me round, I flew; when he lifted me, I soared. The feeling was so exquisite, it was almost painful. I couldn’t bear it when the dance finished. If I could have lived forever in that moment, I would’ve done. My one perfect moment.
But such stage magic cannot last. J-F and I took our bow and exited with the applause ringing in our ears. Once in the wings, I found I was trembling again – no longer from nerves but from a quiver of excitement.
‘Wasn’t that fun?’ said J-F, rubbing his hands together.
‘It was more than fun. It was a revelation. I now understand why they do it.’
‘Do what?’ He pulled me with him past the scenery waiting for the next scene change.
‘Dance. It’s always escaped me. To be honest, I always thought the ballet a distraction from the real drama at Drury Lane. How wrong I was.’
‘So you are converted?’ He paused in front of a flat painted like a gloomy forest. ‘Thinking of quitting the life of a spy and making your career as a ballerina?’
His comment was like a slap in the face, waking me from my dream.
‘What did you say?’
J-F took my hand again – roughly this time – and led me to the dressing rooms. ‘I think you heard well enough.’
My exhilaration was draining rapidly away, to be replaced by dread. My heart was pounding. ‘You’ve known all along?’
‘At least give me the credit for not being a complete fool. You, so inquisitive, involving yourself in everything you shouldn’t – as soon as the mayor put out the call for a spy, I knew who they really wanted. In here!’
J-F pushed me into his dressing room. It was empty as the other performers were still on stage. I backed up warily against the mirror. J-F’s tone was light but that only made me more worried. We both knew that this was no joke for either of us.
‘What are you going to do with me?’
J-F began to wipe off his make-up. ‘From our first meeting, I was watching you, trying to make you out – and at every turn you’ve surprised me. I was going to hand you over – that would’ve been the most sensible thing from a business point of view, naturally – but then . . . then something stopped me. And now? I still haven’t decided. Tell me first who you were spying for.’
‘It wasn’t so much spying. I was just supposed to let my old patron, Mr Sheridan, know how things stood in Paris.’ He continued to remove his costume without looking at me. ‘I wasn’t trying to interfere with what’s going on here. I meant no harm by it – neither did he.’ His silence was worrying me. ‘Please believe me, J-F.’
He opened his mouth to speak but we were interrupted by a knock on the door.
Enter the Bishop of the Notre Dame Thieves, splendid in a purple jacket and candy-striped breeches.
‘Oh dear,’ I groaned. My wonderful evening was fast turning into a nightmare.
Ibrahim bowed to me. ‘Enchanting, mademoiselle, enchanting! You are truly a great dancer.’
‘Thank you, your eminence.’ I curtseyed. I looked from one thief lord to the other, wondering how this would unfold.
J-F threw his face cloth into the wash basket and perched on the edge of the dressing table, his mouth twisted into a mischievous smile. ‘Well, Ibrahim, I do believe you are on my territory now.’
The bishop’s eyes glinted. He straightened his cravat. ‘By invitation.’
‘Of course. But I prefer to negotiate with you here rather than at your palace over the water. We have one English spy to dispose of. I think it will be to our mutual advantage to do it together.’
Dispose of? This sounded grim.
‘Please, J-F, I didn’t mean any harm,’ I pleaded. ‘Far from it: coming here has made me realize what the common people can do – I’ve learnt so much.’
‘So it is you, mademoiselle,’ interrupted the bishop with a satisfied smile. ‘I had almost begun to think I had got it wrong and had cause to regret informing the mayor that you were the one he should be seeking. That’s good, as I don’t want his men to be disappointed when they arrest you. If I’d been wrong, I would not have received my reward.’
‘They’re waiting to arrest me?’
‘Indeed.’
J-F frowned. ‘I cannot allow that. You have no right to take her in my kingdom without my agreement – no right to keep the reward to yourself.’
‘Then you hand over the English boy – he’ll fetch something, I’ve no doubt.’ The Bishop moved towards me.
J-F leapt from his seat and stood between us. ‘He’s worthless now his parents are free.’
‘Shame, but you have only yourself to blame for dallying with the girl, missing your chance while you had it. It seems you will be the loser tonight.’
J-F looked from Ibrahim to me, his eyes calculating. ‘There’s another consideration,’ he said, not giving way.
‘Oh yes, and what’s that?’
‘That we might think that Mademoiselle Cat has earned her freedom. She proved herself a dancer as you asked, you said it yourself when you came in. I believe her when she says she was doing nothing to harm France. She deserves our trust.’
‘Trust? Since when have we thieves done business on the basis of trust?’ mocked Ibrahim.
‘Since the people of Paris began to think the unthinkable, and do the impossible,’ I said softly, remembering J-F’s words to me a few days before.
‘What?’ snapped the bishop.
‘That’s what I’ve learnt: you people are rewriting the rules here. Why not risk trusting me?’
‘You ask why? Because there’s no profit in trust!’
J-F shook his head. ‘You’re wrong. Her friends will match the reward you would’ve received for her – perhaps even double it if we’re lucky, so we can both emerge richer men.’
‘Yes, yes, I’m sure they will. Just ask Frank,’ I said eagerly, clutching at this straw.