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‘That’s wonderful,’ I told her and tried to detach my hands. It didn’t work. They were stuck. Darn! How did she have this much strength in those tiny little fingers? ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me…’
‘Will you be there? Will you watch and be my good luck charm? Please say yes! Please, please.’
I considered how to answer that diplomatically. No, thanks, I have to go stop a bloody murder and prevent the end of the world as we know it?
That probably wouldn’t go over well.
‘I’m sorry.’ Once again, I tugged on my trapped fingers—to no avail. ‘I, um…err…’
‘Mr Linton has promised to help me pick out new costumes for a performance we are planning to stage soon,’ Claudette cut in, giving the girl a broad smile. ‘There will probably be a very interesting part for you, too.’
Emilia let go to clap her hands in delight. I immediately wrenched mine back and hid them safely behind my back, out of her reach.
‘Will there? Oh, that’s wonderful. Thank you!’ She threw her arms around Claudette, and hugged her—and before I could leap back, she submitted me to the same horrific torture. ‘And thank you, too, Mr Linton! All my good luck is due to you, I’m sure.’ Love-struck eyes gazed up at me. ‘I’m more certain than ever that fate has brought us together.’
Fate can go kiss my generous feminist ‘arse!
Behind me, I heard Claudette snort, and I sent her a look that told her all too clearly what I thought of her. Finally, I managed to disentangle myself from my destined lady love, grabbed Claudette by the arm and rushed out of the door. I didn’t slow down until we were at least three streets away.
‘Phew!’ Wiping the sweat off my forehead, I sagged against the closest wall.
Claudette took up a position beside me, one eyebrow lifted in curiosity. ‘So…when are you going to tell ‘er you’re actually a girl?’
I nearly fell on my butt.
‘You…you know?’
The prima donna rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, please! I ‘ave been playing pants roles in se opera for over a decade! You don’t really suppose they leave the acting of boy roles to actual, pimply little boys, do you, mon amie?’[31]
‘But…you asked if I was…and when you saw Mr Ambrose and me together, you said….’
She grinned. ‘A girl ‘as to ‘ave some fun now and again, non?’
To that, I replied with some inventive language I’d heard from one of the janitors who squashed his thumb in a door. Claudette listened and, when I was finished, nodded appreciatively.
‘Not bad, mon amie, not bad. Your French is improving.’
‘I’m glad to think so! Maybe you can help me and tell me what “You’re a bloody devious witch and I hope you burn in hell!” means in French?’
‘That would be “Ma tête est une pomme de terre pourrie”.’
‘Ma tête est une pomme de terre pourrie!’[32]
She gave me a grave nod. ‘I’m sure it is, mon amie.’ She patted my shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t ‘old it against you.’
Deciding to take her translations with a pinch of salt from now on, I strode down the street towards our goal. We still had an assassin to catch and a war to prevent,
I spotted the building we were heading towards at the end of the street.
‘Claudette! There
! Is that it?’
‘Yes, mon amie.’
The place was a luxurious three-story building with large, arched windows, pretty columns and gilded decorations. It almost looked like a small palace. And to judge by the sumptuous gowns, tailcoats and coats displayed in the shop windows, its owners considered themselves to be the kings of Parisian fashion.
‘Mon Dieu!’ Claudette gave a longing sigh at the sight of some of the dresses.
