Marianne and The Masked Prince

present, our business is elsewhere.'

Marianne coloured. In that atmosphere of cheerful, carefree gaiety she had temporarily forgotten the real reason for their expedition to the boulevard du Temple.

'You are right. Well, since we must, where is this waxworks where we have to meet —' She broke off, finding it increasingly difficult to utter Francis Cranmere's name. Arcadius shifted under his arm the wallet containing the fifty thousand livres in banknotes which Marianne had collected that morning from Lafitte, the banker, and pointed to a large building a little way ahead of them. Its neo-classical facade towered above the host of tents and smaller booths.

'You see the Olympic Circus, there, where Monsieur Francom mounts his equestrian spectacles? Monsieur Curtius's Hall of Waxworks is the old house just beyond it, with the balcony and four Corinthian columns. It is a strange place, as you will see, but take care where you walk. The ground here is very muddy.'

They were obliged, in order to avoid the queues forming outside the two small theatres to turn aside under the trees where the earth, given a good soaking by the morning's heavy rain, was indeed very muddy. A gang of small boys dashed past, shouting at the tops of their voices, and Jolival, doing his best to protect Marianne from the dirt splashed up by their feet, murmured apologetically:

'I am sorry to subject you to this but I think it is better than remaining in the open.'

'Why so?'

For answer, Jolival nodded towards a low building crammed in between the waxworks and a little wooden theatre with a large, canvas pediment announcing its name: the Pygmy Theatre. The ground floor of the house was taken up by a spacious tavern, the sign over the doorway representing an ear of corn being cut by a sickle.

'That delightful spot is the Epi-Scie, owned by our friend Fanchon Fleur-de-Lis. We shall be wiser to keep well away from there.'

The mention of Francis's sinister associate was enough to make Marianne shiver, agitated as she was by the thought of the impending meeting. She quickened her pace and in a few moments they had reached their destination. Outside the waxwork hall was the magnificent figure of a Polish Lancer, so lifelike that Marianne had to go close up to it to be certain that it was really only a dummy. Meanwhile Arcadius, the wallet still tucked firmly under his arm, was paying their entrance money at the gate. The inevitable barker exhorted the good people of Paris to 'Step-up and see the figures of the great and famous, more real than in life.'

Marianne went forward nervously into the large, gloomy hall. The only light came from windows which could have done with a good cleaning; for all the bright afternoon outside, grey twilight reigned within. The wax figures loomed ghostly and unreal in the murky dimness and would have been frightening but for the presence of the visiting public, laughing and exclaiming over the show.

They stood for a moment, ostensibly admiring a warlike effigy of the late Marshal Lannes, their eyes busy searching for Francis among the crowd of people, real and waxwork. Marianne shivered.

'It is cold in here.'

'Yes,' Jolival agreed, 'and our friend is late.'

Marianne made no answer. Her nervousness was increasing, possibly from the unnerving presence of so many all-too-lifelike wax dummies. The principal group, occupying the very centre of the room, represented Napoleon himself seated at table with all his family, with footmen in attendance. All the Bonapartes were there: Caroline, Pauline, Elisa and their stern Mama in her widow's weeds. But it was the wax Emperor himself that Marianne found most disconcerting. She had the feeling that his painted eyes were looking at her, seeing her conspiratorial air, and shame mingled with the fear of finding Francis suddenly before her made her want to turn and run.

Guessing her trouble, Arcadius stepped up to the imperial table and laughed.

'You have no idea how this dinner-table has reflected the history of France. It has seen Louis XV and his august family, Louis XVI and his august family, the Directorate and their august families and now here is Napoleon with his august family – although you will observe that the Empress is missing. Marie- Louise is still unfinished and besides, I have an idea they were going to cannibalize some parts of the Pompadour, who is now obsolete. What I do know is that this fruit has been here since Louis XV, and I should think that may well be the original dust!'

Jolival's commentary raised no more than a faint smile from Marianne. She was wondering what had become of Francis for, little as she wished to see him, she was also anxious to get the interview over and turn her back on a place she found depressing in the extreme.

Then, suddenly, he was there. Marianne saw him emerge from the darkest corner, behind the bath in which the dying Marat lay, struck by Charlotte Corday's knife. He, too, was dressed soberly, a brown hat pulled down low over his brow and his coat collar turned up to hide his face. He came quickly towards them and Marianne, who had never known him anything but confident and self-assured, was surprised to see him cast a swift, furtive glance around him.

'You are in good time,' he said curtly, without troubling to bow.

'You, on the other hand, are late,' Arcadius retorted drily.

'I was detained. You must forgive me. You have the money?'

'We have the money.' Again, it was Jolival who answered, and his grip on the wallet tightened a little. 'It does not appear, however, that you have Mademoiselle d'Asselnat.'

'You shall have her later. The money first. How can I be sure it is indeed in that wallet?' His hand went out towards the leather satchel.

'What is so delightful in dealing with persons of your sort, my lord, is the sense of trust which exists. See for yourself.' Arcadius slipped open the leather case, exposing the fifty notes, each for one thousand livres, then shut it swiftly, and tucked it back securely under his arm. 'There,' he said coolly. 'Now show us your prisoner.'

Francis moved irritably. 'I said later. I will bring her to your house tonight. For the present, I am in haste and may not linger here. It is not safe for me.'

That much was clear. His eyes were shifting continually, never meeting Marianne's. Now, however, she decided to take a hand. Laying her fingers on the wallet as if she feared that Arcadius might be overcome by some impulsive act of generosity, she said clearly: 'The less I see of you, the better I shall like it. My doors are closed to you, and you will gain nothing by coming to my house, alone or otherwise. We struck a bargain. You have seen that I have fulfilled my part of it. I call on you to fulfil yours. If not, we are back where we started.'

'Your meaning?'

'That you will get no money until you have restored my cousin to me.'

Lord Cranmere's grey eyes narrowed and began to glitter dangerously. His smile was unpleasant.

'Are you not forgetting something, my lady? If my memory serves me correctly, your cousin was only a part – a very small part of that bargain. She merely guaranteed that I should be undisturbed while you collected the money which will ensure that you in turn shall be left undisturbed.'

Marianne did not flinch before the barely concealed menace. Now that the swords were out, she had recovered all her poise and confidence, as she always did when a fight was in prospect. She permitted herself a small, contemptuous smile.

'That is not how I see it. Since the delightful conversation which you forced on me I have taken steps to ensure that I shall be left in peace. I am no longer afraid of you.'

'You are bluffing,' Francis said roughly. 'You need not. I am stronger at that game than you. If you did not fear me, you would have come here empty-handed.'

'I came only to recover my cousin. As for what you call bluffing, let me tell you that I have seen the Emperor. I spent several hours in his private office. If your information is as good as you pretend, you should have known that.'

'I do know it. I know also that you were expected to leave it under arrest.'

'Instead I left it to be politely escorted to my coach by his majesty's own valet,' Marianne countered with a coolness she was far from feeling. Determined to carry it through to the end, she went on: 'Distribute your pamphlets, my friend, they will not hurt me. And you will not get a penny from me until you return Adelaide.'

She knew his twisted nature too well not to feel deeply anxious, for he was not to be defeated so easily. Even so, Marianne could not help rejoicing a little inwardly as he hesitated, and when she saw a look of something very close to admiration on Arcadius's face she was sure that she was gaining an important advantage. It was vital