Den of Thieves

by Julia Golding

  * Struck through by censor

  Interlude – A Country Dance

  Paris, 22nd June 1791

  My dear Patron,

  I had not expected to have so much to write after being here only a day, but Paris has turned out to be far more interesting than I had imagined and I can wait no longer with my news. The chief point is that the king and his family fled last night, leaving the city in confusion. Fortunately the streets, with a few exceptions, are calm. My impression is that most care little for the king himself but no one wants war. Death and destruction is bad for business, one entrepreneur told me.

  This is not my only news. A disaster has struck much closer to home: our friends from Grosvenor Square have been arrested on suspicion of aiding the king’s escape. On what grounds I know not, other than the unfortunate fact that they are English. Please do all you can through your channels to secure their release; I’m doing what I can here. I’ll be meeting our friend, the Captain, as soon as possible. He may be able to help.

  Your Diamond.

  P.S. By the by, Frank and I almost got hanged today were robbed by a charming gang of thieves so there is no need for you to worry that I will feel homesick for old London.

  P.P.S. I hope you agree my first letter is not devoid of interest and worth a guinea.

  ACT III

  SCENE 1 – CAPTAIN SPARKLER

  ‘The first thing we need to do, Frank,’ I told my friend as we huddled together in my little room, ‘is we need to disguise you. If they’re after the Avon family – and they can’t be too particular if they took Lizzie – they might just arrest you to make it a round number.’

  Frank nodded, staring blankly at his feet, not yet recovered from the shock of finding his parents had been led off in chains. Joseph stood sentry at the door, on the watch for any snooping ballerinas, but he kept casting anxious looks at his master. Neither of us liked this dejected mood: Frank was normally so full of life you usually wished someone would sit on him to keep him quiet.

  ‘Why the handcuffs?’ I asked Joseph when I realized that I was going to get very little from Frank for the moment. ‘I thought they’d treat a duke with more respect – he must have some sort of standing, even in France.’

  ‘It wasn’t for the duke, miss,’ said Joseph solemnly. He need say no more: I could see it as if I’d been there. The duchess was not a woman to allow herself to be dragged off without a struggle.

  ‘How many did she injure?’

  ‘The butler said that she felled two guardsmen before they resorted to the irons, miss. The duke also sustained an injury to his nose, possibly broken.’

  ‘What! They didn’t dare mistreat him, did they?’

  Joseph shook his head. ‘Not them. Her grace accidentally caught him with a punch right in the face when he tried to restrain her.’

  ‘Ah. And Lady Elizabeth?’

  ‘Distressed but otherwise calm.’

  Of course. I expected nothing less of my friend.

  I got up from the bed and walked to the window to think. We’d already sent a message to Johnny and were expecting an answer at any moment. After that, the next step would be to find out where they were being held and see if they had any immediate wants; I knew from my own brief experience of prison* that it would be short on any comforts. We also needed to inform the British representative in Paris. My letter would take days to reach London and we had to have help much faster than that. Secretly, I was hoping that this would all be over before Mr Sheridan even had time to break the seal on my letter. The Avons were bound to be released before the day was over, weren’t they?

  I gazed at the sun setting over the rooftops, shafts of light spotlighting the smoke twisting up from the cooking fires. A sparrow hopped on to the ledge beside me, looking hopeful. I had nothing to give him; in fact, I realized I’d eaten nothing since breakfast. My stomach rumbled.

  ‘I’m going down to the kitchen,’ I told my companions. ‘I’ll see if I can arrange a place for you to stay. It’s best, I think, that we say nothing to Madame Beaufort about this until we are sure of her – she’s been acting strangely since she returned home and I couldn’t swear that she won’t hand you over to the authorities.’

  Frank nodded glumly.

  ‘At least, sir, we have our disguise already provided for us,’ said Joseph brightly. ‘Courtesy of that extraordinary young gentleman we met this morning.’

  ‘Thanks, Joseph,’ I said, patting him on the back as I passed. ‘Keep an eye on him for me, will you?’

  ‘Need you ask, miss?’

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  The kitchen was quiet. The ballerinas had already dined and gone out with Madame Beaufort to visit the Opera, the place where they were to perform. Only the old concierge was there, stirring the fire with a long black poker.

  ‘There you are, mademoiselle,’ he said gruffly. ‘Your dinner is still in the pot, if you want it.’

  My growling stomach decided rapidly that I might as well have some before sorting out supper and lodgings for my friends.

  ‘Thank you, monsieur.’

  I helped myself to the stew and broke off a piece of bread from one of those long sticks the French prefer, a little too dry for my taste but not bad when dipped in the gravy.

  ‘What have you done now, miss?’

  ‘What?’ I was surprised to be interrupted by the concierge. ‘I mean, pardon, monsieur?’

  ‘Those little madams were talking about you as if you were the worst of the worst. “What, her? That little thing?” I thought to myself. You must have done something very bad to earn their dislike.’

  ‘Oh.’ I put my spoon down, my appetite vanishing.

  ‘So what did you do?’ The concierge took the poker from the fire and dipped it in a mug of wine at his elbow. The smell of nutmeg and cinnamon wafted into the air as the liquid fizzed. I thought of Caleb Braithwaite, who is partial to warm porter, which he heats in the same manner by his little fire at Drury Lane. Used to heat, I corrected myself. His post by the stage door was probably rubble by now.

  ‘Speak up, mademoiselle. I like a story. I can’t believe anything too bad of you. I’ve a grandson who must be about your age – you remind me of him.’

  I sighed. I needed some allies just now and he seemed a pleasant fellow. ‘Well, monsieur, I’m not exactly sure what I’ve done, but I think the root of the problem is that I’ve been telling too many stories about myself for their liking. They think I think I’m better than them.’

  ‘And do you think that?’ He took a mouthful of wine and spluttered. ‘Mon dieu, that’s hot!’

  I passed him a jug of water from the table.

  ‘Of course I don’t. I’m no better than anyone. No parents, no home, no situation in life; I can’t even dance like they can – how could I possibly think I am superior to them?’

  He smiled, his wrinkles deepening into little valleys.

  ‘That’s not what I heard. I was told – by a friend of mine, you understand – that you are one of the royalty.’

  ‘You’re joking?’

  He shook his head. ‘Street royalty. A certain king took a shine to you this morning.’

  ‘That’s not all he took.’ I smiled ruefully, remembering my dress, Joseph’s livery and Frank’s money. I shook myself. ‘How did you know that?’

  He touched his finger to the side of his nose. ‘What do you think an old thief king does when he gets too old to play the game?’

  ‘He . . .’ I looked around me. ‘He becomes a concierge?’

  The old man nodded. ‘Guarding empty buildings is a fine job for a man with, shall we say, interesting connections. The old king recognizes the authority of the new, even if he is the cheeky offspring of his no-good son.’

  ‘You’re J-F’s grandfather?’

  ‘For my sins. Pleased to meet you, Mademoiselle Firecracker. He’s asked me to look after you.’

  I was astonished: this seemed a very sentimental gesture for the thief king. ‘Why?
’

  ‘So no one else robs you blind, of course, my girl. He thinks of you as his property now – you and the young lord: he called you his milk cows.’

  ‘Thank you, monsieur.’ At least, I think it called for a ‘thank you’ – I wasn’t too sure. This surely couldn’t be a coincidence?

  He sipped his drink. ‘Call me Renard.’

  Meaning fox. Yes, that fitted.

  ‘Thank you, Renard.’ I scowled at him. ‘You told J-F about us, didn’t you?’

  He gave a grunt of laughter. ‘Not much escapes you, does it? I must admit I thought the young lord’s purse needed slimming down. I suppose it is possible that I may have given my grandson a tip that three clients would be out on the streets this morning, heading for the rue de Clichy.’

  ‘So he followed us,’ I muttered, more to myself.

  ‘It was your good luck that he did. I had nothing to do with the discussion at the lamp post – you can take all credit for that yourself.’

  He stretched his legs out and sat back in his chair.

  ‘Now tell me, mademoiselle: what do you want me to do for the boy you’ve smuggled up to your bedroom now his family has been arrested?’

  Nothing gets past a thief king – even a retired one.

  ‘Now, don’t fly off the handle, Frank, but I’ve got a suggestion for you.’ I had waited until Frank and Joseph had their hands occupied with their supper before I broached the subject in case either of them wanted to throttle me for what I was about to say.

  ‘Oh yes?’ said Frank suspiciously. ‘What kind of suggestion?’

  ‘A safe place for you to go to ground while we try and sort this out.’

  ‘That’s good, miss,’ commented Joseph, far more trustful of me than he should have been.

  ‘I’ve been having a talk with the concierge and it appears he knows J-F – he’s his grandfather, in fact . . .’ I wasn’t sure I had the courage to continue.

  ‘Really? That’s a strange coincidence,’ remarked Frank.

  I coughed awkwardly, not thinking it an opportune moment to explain how we were set up this morning by our friendly concierge.

  ‘Go on,’ prompted Frank.

  ‘He . . . well, no, I suggested that the safest place for you at the moment might be at the Golden Balls . . . with J-F.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘He won’t let anything happen to you – not if we pay him well,’ I added in a lower voice.

  ‘Cat, you can’t be serious! That boy is a menace – a charming one, but still a menace. He will sell me out sure as my name’s Francis.’

  ‘Well, it’s not any longer. You’re François.’ He seemed about to protest again. ‘Look, Frank, do you have a better idea? It’s only for a few days.’ His objections died before they passed his lips. ‘Joseph, you don’t have to go with Frank but . . .’

  ‘Of course I have to go with him,’ the footman replied indignantly.

  ‘I thought as much. But please don’t anger J-F. He’s doing us a favour.’

  ‘How much?’ asked Frank bitterly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘How much is this costing me?’

  I twisted my hands together. ‘He understands that you may be low on funds at the moment . . .’

  ‘Yes, since he stole all my money, you mean.’

  ‘So we’ve put aside the matter of payment until later. He’s promised that it won’t be more than we can afford.’

  Frank gave a snort.

  ‘You could look on it as a chance to broaden your horizons,’ I said over-brightly. ‘You always loved exploring the streets of London with Pedro; why not Paris?’

  ‘Yes, but Pedro isn’t a ruthless thief who’d cut your throat if the fancy took him.’

  ‘You don’t know that about J-F.’

  ‘Don’t I? I bear the scars from this morning’s encounter even if you got off lightly, Cat.’

  ‘Still . . .’

  ‘You’re sweet on him, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘You are – don’t you deny it!’

  ‘What? Sweet on a boy with ears like pitcher handles and hair full of lice? Give me more credit than that, Frank.’

  ‘You can’t fool me. You admire him – I can tell.’

  ‘I might admire him – just a little, mind, but that doesn’t mean I like him in that way.’

  ‘Rubbish – you do!’

  ‘Don’t!

  ‘Do!’

  ‘I don’t, you stubborn . . .’

  ‘What? Do my ears deceive me or is that the dulcet tone of my Catkin?

  Frank and I spun round to see a tall, dark-haired man lounging against the doorpost.

  ‘Johnny!’ I shrieked and threw myself at him. He hugged me tight, rocking to and fro.

  ‘It’s so good to see you, Cat. Has Sheridan been treating you well, eh?’

  I shrugged, grinning up at him. He hadn’t changed a bit: still the same handsome Lord Jonathan Fitzroy – sorry, plain Johnny now he had emigrated to America and Captain Sparkler to all lovers of radical cartoons.

  ‘And Frank. I’m so sorry to hear about your parents and . . .’ he gave a cough to clear the catch in his throat ‘. . . and Lizzie. I’m sure we can sort it all out.’

  Frank got up to shake his hand. ‘Thank you, Johnny. I’m glad you’re here. Perhaps you can knock some sense into Cat for me.’

  Johnny kept his arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. ‘I doubt that.’

  ‘She’s suggesting I hide among a gang of thieves we met this morning.’

  ‘They saved us from being lynched,’ I chipped in.

  ‘Only to rob us,’ Frank finished.

  ‘Sounds an excellent idea to me,’ said Johnny with a chuckle. ‘I trust Cat’s judgement about people. Don’t you?’

  Frank opened his mouth to say something then shut it.

  ‘I can’t hide you,’ Johnny continued. ‘The authorities are aware that I know your family – I’ve hardly thought it necessary to hide the fact until today. If they are looking for you, they may well come knocking on my door. But I would bet my last dollar that they won’t look for an English lord among thieves. They’ll think you’re far too proud to mingle with the poor. You’re not, are you?’

  Frank put his head in his hands, his shoulders hunched with worry. Then he let them drop, took a deep breath and looked up. ‘Sorry, everyone, I’m being a bit of an idiot, aren’t I? Of course I’m not too proud. I mingle with Cat, don’t I?’

  I poked Frank in the ribs, very pleased to find Johnny still placed his confidence in me. ‘So, you’ll do as I suggest?’

  Frank nodded.

  ‘In that case, Marie is waiting in the kitchen with Renard to escort you. You’ll need to change back into the clothes you had this morning. Leave the rest here: I’ll look after them.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ he asked as he shooed me out into the corridor so he could undress.

  I glanced at Johnny. ‘I guess we’re going prison visiting.’

  Johnny hired a carriage to take us over to the Conciergerie Prison on the Ile de la Cité. It was twilight but the streets were still busy with people shopping and chatting. If I had been at home I would have said there was a holiday mood in the air, but perhaps I just didn’t understand them yet.

  ‘Corpus Christi tomorrow,’ Johnny commented, nodding to a church where some nuns were brushing the steps. ‘There’ll be a huge procession through the streets. I just hope there’s no trouble. I’m amazed it’s been this quiet so far.’

  ‘I wouldn’t call it quiet,’ I muttered, rubbing the rope burn on my neck. I proceeded to tell him what had happened that day, sparing no details.

  ‘Poor Catkin,’ said Johnny, pulling me to him. ‘You really do need looking after, don’t you?’

  ‘I thought I did quite well extricating us from J-F’s court with a full suit of clothes each.’

  He laughed and tapped the end of my nose. ‘You know what I mean. You shouldn’t ha
ve been there in the first place. I’ll have words with Sheridan for sending you off to this den of thieves.’

  I snuggled against him. Once I thought I loved Johnny like an older brother. Seeing him today, I realized I had developed a hopeless devotion to him – so hopeless that it hardly hurt to know that his feelings were all for Lizzie. When I was with him, I need not look over my shoulder wondering if I was safe and accepted – I just knew I was.

  ‘Mr Sheridan did me a favour giving me this job,’ I confided. ‘I made a terrible mess of looking after myself when the theatre closed.’

  ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’

  I nodded. Then it all came tumbling out: sleeping rough, Mr Tweadle, my stories, even the stupid bargain with Billy Shepherd. Johnny was silent for a long time. I listened to the hooves clattering on the cobbles and the squeak of the carriage. Did he think badly of me for letting everyone down?

  ‘When this is all over, you could come back to America with me, you know,’ he said at last. ‘I’m not concerned about that Tweadle fellow – Sheridan will sort him out for you, I have no doubt – but Shepherd worries me.’

  ‘He’s always worried everyone. I expect even the midwife had second thoughts and wanted to put him back the moment he was born.’

  ‘I’m being serious, Cat. He won’t rest until he’s got you under his thumb.’

  ‘I rather thought he’d end up killing me,’ I said with a shrug.

  Johnny sat up and took me by the shoulders. ‘Why are you treating this like a joke? Don’t you realize what you’re up against?’

  Of course I knew: I’d watched him beat Johnny to a pulp and had felt his razor at my throat.

  ‘I’m not joking, Johnny,’ I said seriously. ‘I know he’s dangerous – I know what he wants and he’s not getting it.’ Johnny shook his head. I could tell he thought I was naïve. ‘Look, he could’ve got rid of me any day over the last year but he hasn’t. I refuse to live in fear of a wart like him.’

  ‘Come to America, Cat. You’d like it there,’ urged Johnny.