While the fireworks fizzed and exploded in bright starbursts overhead to a chorus of gasps and cries, I edged my way around the periphery of the crowd, scanning it for any sign of the man in the Greek mask. Against the palace wall, a couple grappled with one another in the shelter of a window embrasure, the man’s hand thrust under her skirts, his face pressed into her neck as she arched her head back and moaned softly. I moved away, though I doubted they had even been aware of my presence. At the rear of the terrace, I found a step on which I could stand in the shadows to survey the guests as they watched the fireworks. Henri was right, I thought, as I sought him out in his furs at the front of the spectators; it would be the work of a moment for a masked man – or woman – to slip up behind him and put a blade between his ribs, despite the bodyguards. Perhaps his mother felt that to appear in a crowd like this as if he had nothing to fear would look like a show of strength.
I was musing on this when I noticed a hooded figure sidling towards me along the palace wall, half hidden in the dark. My right hand crept inside my cloak, feeling for my dagger. The figure stopped a few feet away and darted a furtive glance in my direction. I could see nothing of its face. Our breath clouded around us, leaving trails in the air. I waited, fingers closing around the handle.
‘Buona sera, Dottore,’ said a woman’s voice, after a while.
I breathed out, and let go of the knife. ‘Gabrielle?’
A soft laugh. ‘It is you,’ she whispered, in French. ‘Thank goodness. You are not the only one wearing the Doctor’s costume tonight, you know. I have already approached the wrong man once. He thought it was his lucky night.’
‘I bet he did.’
‘I should have known you’d be the one standing apart from everyone else. You always did prefer your own company.’
‘Not always,’ I murmured.
She drew her hood back a little so that I could see her mischievous smile. The top half of her face was covered by a jewelled mask of midnight blue silk, but her eyes held a knowing sparkle, seeming in that moment so familiar it sent a jolt of affection through me. Her look implied complicity; though I knew her loyalty was always to Catherine first, it warmed me to think there might be one more person in this city who was pleased to see me. Though immediately I had to remind myself not to take anything at face value where Gabrielle was concerned.
‘When Balthasar said you were here, I could hardly believe it,’ she said, keeping her voice low. ‘You know Catherine has forbidden the King from seeing you. I should have guessed you would contrive to defy her, between you.’ She sounded amused.
‘Will you tell her?’
‘Give me one good reason why I should not.’ Her tone was teasing. She was still looking at me from the corner of her eye.
‘Because you are secretly in love with me, and you have been praying since I left that I would come back and marry you and take you away from all this,’ I said, straight-faced.
She laughed aloud, a pleasingly unladylike snort. ‘Still the same high opinion of yourself, I see.’
‘I must hold myself in high regard, madam – no one else in Paris will.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You still have a certain roguish appeal for the ladies of the court. And one or two of the men, I don’t doubt.’ She flashed me an impish smile, holding my gaze boldly until I shook my head, laughing. Gabrielle was never an obvious beauty, not in the provocative way of the woman who played Circe; her allure was all in the way she carried herself, with a natural elegance and an insouciance that suggested she didn’t much care if men paid her attention or not – an attitude which, naturally, made their interest all the keener. She was tall, with long limbs, dark-gold hair and a strong-featured face whose natural expression in repose made her look as if she had just remembered a filthy joke. It had been difficult to resist her for as long as I did, and she knew it.
‘It’s good to see you,’ I said, falling back on understatement. ‘You look well.’
‘I’d like to say the same, but I can see nothing of you under that disguise.’
‘I can’t take it off in public view.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you suggesting you take it off somewhere more private?’
Flustered, I began to mumble some excuse, but she only laughed again and nudged me with her elbow. ‘Even if what you said earlier were true, Bruno, and not just your wild fantasy, I’m afraid you’re too late. I’m already married.’
There was no logic to the fleeting stab of disappointment I felt at this announcement, but I was aware of it nonetheless.
‘Congratulations,’ I said, without conviction.
‘Hardly. She had me married off to the Comte de Ligny. It’s not a bad arrangement. One has to be practical. It was very good of him really, in the circumstances.’
‘Ah. I heard…’
‘I’m sure you did. But Catherine has ways of managing these things. I went away before anyone could do more than speculate. The Count is my daughter’s father
