Chapter Three.

'Its on the map. Look rue du Colombieris there and rue des Carmelites should be the third turning on the left.

I turned the map around again. The print was small, but I could see the place I was looking for. The trouble was it only seemed to exist on paper. There was no third turning in the narrow passage ahead.

'Let me see. Lucca took the flimsy sheet from my hands and held it out in front of him. He frowned as he looked from the paper to the gloomy alley. 'It cant be right.

'The man in the kiosk didnt look right to me. That black thing under his nose wasnt normal for a start. It was so rigid with wax that it didnt move when he talked. I reckon he has to chip it off at night. I think you were done back there at the station, Lucca. I thought you said you could speak their lingo?

'I said I can speak a little French, Kitty. It is a Latin language, like Italian not so hard for me, s? I know enough to make myself understood.

'Old rat lip understood all right. He took us for a pair of daisies and sold you a fake map. I said we should have taken a hack or whatever they have here.

My voice scratched like a wire brush. I was in a coil about seeing Joey, and Lucca was still getting the benefit of it.

It was almost dark now. Lamps glowed behind the tall shuttered windows of the flaking stone buildings around us. If rue des Carmelites was nearby it wasnt in what youd call the finest part of town.

I was disappointed. I wanted Joey to be . . . Tell truth, I dont know what I wanted him to be, exactly, but I think I was hoping for more than a back alley that reeked of cat piss.

I imagined I might find it exotic to be in Paris. I thought I might feel the difference of it through the soles of my boots from the moment we stepped into the street. Look at you, Kitty Peck, I thought to myself as we walked down the platform at the Gare du Nord, a porter following up with our gear, youre a long way from Limehouse now, girl.

But the fact of the matter was that apart from the way everyone spoke and a certain manner of dress Id noticed in some of the women . . . and a couple of the men, come to that the streets wed been walking for the last hour or so looked curiously familiar. When it comes to it, I suppose one city is much like another, but Id swear there were corners up Spitalfields way that were the double of the quarter wed just gone through. Even the sound and the smell of the place was the same carriages on cobbles and horse shit. Mind you, it was colder than London, which came as a surprise seeing as how France was continental.

I shivered and stamped my feet. I wasnt sure what I was going to say to Joey when I found him, but it was, after all, why I was here. I certainly didnt want to spend the rest of the night searching for his house. My house, I corrected myself. I wasnt sure what I was going to say to him about that neither.

'Perhaps the scale is wrong. Wait there. Lucca folded the map into a square and walked a little way up the cobbled passage. I watched as he craned to check the names painted on the walls just above head height. Soon it would be too dark to see them.

'What about the trunk? I called after him. 'We wont be able to collect it after nine. Thats what they told you, isnt it?

Right on cue a church bell somewhere off to the right began to sound the hour. After eight metallic strikes the echo faded gradually off the stone walls. It was the only sound. This part of the city wasnt just shabby, it was deserted.

'Lucca, well have to go back to the station for it and find a hotel for the night. Well buy a new map tomorrow. My voice was tight as a dockers bowline. Looking back, I think I was close to tears.

'Ill go just a little further. I watched him disappear into the shadows and kicked at some loose stones. This couldnt be the right place.

A door opened halfway along the passage and a tall woman stepped out. She looked left and right, glanced up at the crack of starry sky overhead and patted the ivory handle of the ruffled black umbrella hooked over her arm. As she came towards me I noticed her clothes were far better than youd expect of someone living on these streets. Sleek fur trimmings sheened at the neck and hem of a velvet cape worn over a heavily beaded skirt. I could hear it rustle and crackle as she came towards me.

The womans dark hair was piled high on the top of her head, curled and pinned in a way I couldnt begin to emulate, and her face was so artfully painted that anyone who hadnt worked the halls would have taken her for a natural.

So, I thought to myself as she drew level and I found myself admiring the way her boot-black lashes curled upwards, its true what they say about French women after all. She must have seen me gawping because a couple of seconds after shed passed by I heard her stop and rustle some more.

A gloved hand that smelt of fresh-cut violets touched my right cheek.

'Josette! Est-ce que vous?

I whipped about.

The woman stared at me confused. Her darting black eyes took in every angle of my face and then she looked down at my dusty travelling coat and at the tips of my new boots poking out from underneath. Shiny brown leather, they were, like a pair of fresh hatched conkers. This morning when I buttoned them up I thought them very fine indeed, but now they were giving me the gyp. I couldnt wait to tear them off and toast my bare feet in front of a fire.

She frowned and shook her head.

'Pardon, mademoiselle. Je suis desolee, je me suis trompee.

I didnt understand a word of that, but all the same I reckoned she was apologising for something. She nodded her head and the glittering black jewels dangling from her ears fell forward over the fur of her collar. She turned away and carried on up the street.

'Wait, please! She didnt look back so I called after her. 'Why did you . . .?

'You may be right, Fannella. I went to the end and theres nothing. The maps useless.

I turned to see Lucca folding the tissue roughly before forcing it into a pocket of his coat. He glanced at the woman who was a dozen yards away now.

'You called out to her?

I nodded. 'I think she mistook me for someone. We could ask her for directions?

Lucca sprinted to catch the woman, who had almost reached the corner. I followed and heard him gabble a string of words. The woman halted and looked back. Lucca pulled the map from his pocket and flapped the creased paper open. I noticed again how the woman stared at me, like shed lost something in my face and was searching for it.

'Nous sommes ici, madame? Lucca took a couple of steps closer, holding the map out so that she could see it clearly too. 'Ici? He pointed at the sheet and looked direct at her. Then he paused. For a moment he froze like one of them old marble statues he was so fond of drawing at the Victoria and Albert. Of a sudden he rattled off something in French and the woman shook her head so violent that a couple of hair pins came loose and chinked down on the cobbles. She raised her hand to cover her mouth and backed away.

I was so used to Luccas face that most of the time I forgot about the scars. You couldnt blame her, I supposed, for taking fright like that, but all the same I felt for him. Usually he took it quite personal, but this time I was amazed to see him go after her. He caught her arm and carried on in French, speaking so soft that I couldnt hear the words distinctively, just make out the fact that he sounded . . . concerned, like he was trying to comfort her, not the other way round.

At first she tried to pull away, but he kept on speaking. He minded me of one of the Fore Street dray lads calming a skittish mare. When he stopped we all stood there in silence. I noticed that the woman had flushed up like a rose and that she was breathing fast under that fancy cape. Surely she could tell we didnt mean her any harm? And as for Luccas face . . . well, you get used to that soon enough. The polite thing is not to stare.

And tell truth she didnt. Instead, she kept glancing at me through them thick black lashes, sidling her eyes away if I caught her. I didnt have a clue what Lucca had said, but it must have done the trick because after a minute she took the map from his hand and started to speak very quickly and very quietly.

She flattened the map against the wall behind her and pointed. Lucca leaned forward and nodded. Then the two of them were off again, rabbiting away like a couple of schoolgirls.

I couldnt hold it any longer. 'Whats she saying?

Lucca didnt look at me. 'In a moment, wait please.

'Does she know where rue des Carmelites is? I tried again, moving closer. I was beginning to feel like a teetotal at a gin palace. The woman clammed up. Lucca leaned forward and whispered something to her and her expression changed. Handing him the map, she reached out to touch my face. The smell of violets, expensive ones at that, came strong again.

'Oui, je vois, il est vrai. She murmured. 'Jolie fille.

Without another word, she turned her back on us both and walked on down the street. The beads on her skirt made a brittle scratching sound as they brushed the surface of the cobbles. Just before turning the corner she raised her left hand in a sort of salute before disappearing.

I waited until her footsteps faded to nothing before turning to Lucca.

'Well? What was all that about, then? You two were having a nice tte--tte, werent you? See, I know the French for getting on like a house on fire, all right. I stopped myself. Under usual circumstances I would have thought it through proper and chosen my words more careful. But if Lucca noticed he didnt let on, in fact he began to smile, and that riled me.

'Anyway, I wouldnt have thought she was your type! I said, pointedly.

Now he laughed out loud.

'Its not bleedin funny to me, Lucca. Did she tell you anything? The map for a start what did she say about that? She showed you something, didnt she?

He nodded. 'I know exactly where rue des Carmelites is now. His face softened and he looked at me, almost sadly I thought, like a crow giving bad news to an invalid. He took my hand and squeezed it. 'And now I know exactly what we will find there. Come, Fannella, it is this way.

We started back towards the narrow passage where wed already been. I pulled on his arm, confused.

'But that cant be right. Weve already tried up there. What did she tell you?

'Quite a lot, actually, Fannella . . . Lucca paused. 'By the way, she was a he.

Lucca stepped back and stared up at the tall narrow house. It must have been six storeys at least and as far as I could tell in the dark there was another row of windows set along the roof.

'She said it was here a side passage leading to a courtyard, but theres nothing. He rubbed his hands together, but not because he was cold. Fiddling with his fingers was something he did when he was thinking. If it wasnt for the new green gloves hed be picking at his nails.

I looked up too. The woman had told him to look for a passage after the fifteenth house along the left-hand side of rue du Colombier. Wed counted it out and that was where we were now, but there wasnt a passage like she said.

She? I wouldnt have known her for a man. Lucca said he could tell as soon as he got a clear view of her face, but apart from her height, which I put down to her being foreign, there was nothing to make me think that under all that fancy rig she was so very different to me.

Something twisted about in my belly. Lucca and I hadnt talked much about Joey, not since he told me about the fire and why my brother was there that night.

Im not green as Alberts Ointment. I knew what he was telling me all right, but I didnt dress it up in my mind and have a good long look. It felt like prying like that time I found Luccas drawing of Joey standing there without a stitch on his back, or his front come to it. No, Joey was my brother and whatever he was doing here in Paris that was his business. I just wanted to make sure he was alive as Id been promised.

And that he was . . . content.

I scanned the shuttered windows. There wasnt a single chink of light showing. That was odd, I thought, because all the other houses around us were clearly occupied whereas this one was lifeless. As I looked I realised that wasnt entirely true. The shutters had been painted quite recently, a shade of red was it? It was hard to tell in the dark. And the double doors to the left werent flaked and battered like the other entrances along the passage. Someone cared about appearances here, theyd even painted a trail of leaves across the top and down one side of the door. It was clever work to trick the eye, like one of Luccas scenery flats for The Gaudy.

That tipped something. I frowned and peered at the building again. Of course! Now I saw it clear. I tugged at Luccas sleeve. 'Come and see this.

I crossed the passage and stood on tiptoe to work my fingers between the painted slats of a shutter covering one of the two windows at street level. It was a narrow gap, but just as I expected I felt flat stonework underneath, nothing more.

'Its not a house. I turned to Lucca. 'Its painted to look like one, but theres nothing behind these shutters thats why theres no light. Most people passing by wouldnt give it a second glance, but thats not a proper house. Its a shell.

Lucca pushed up the brim of his hat to get a better view and nodded slowly. 'S and it is good work, but when you know, it is obvious. It is una facciata a facade.

'So whats behind it? And how do we get there? I went to the doors. There was no knocker or bell, not even a handle. I smoothed my hand over the painted wood considering whether or not to beat my fist on the panels and call out.

There was a scratching noise from the other side. It came from low down and I knelt to listen. Lucca bent next to me. The noise came again and as we crouched there on the cobbles half of the door swung silently inward.

'Allez! A small grey cat slipped between us and into the passage. For a moment it paused and stared back, affronted by the fact that wed blocked its path, and then it pressed itself against the wall opposite and disappeared into the shadows.

'Quavons-nous ici?

The quavering voice came again. I looked up to see a spindly elderly man holding the door open. Beyond him I could just see a hallway lit by a single fat candle in a glass lamp box suspended from an arched ceiling. I nudged Lucca and we both straightened up. The man, who was wearing clothes at least fifty years behind the fashion, all frothy with dainty lace and twinkling buttons, wrinkled his nose. 'Quest-ce que vous voulez?

Lucca began to speak very rapidly. The old man seemed to find it hard to stop staring at his face, mesmerised he was, like one of the punters Swami Jonah takes up on stage for his mental act. The old boy even shifted to let more light spill out from the hall behind. I saw the way his lips twitched as he took in the scars.

If Lucca was insulted he didnt let it stop him. He carried on jawing away and then he drew out the map and pointed at the place where rue des Carmelites should be. The place where, by my reckoning, we were standing right now.

'Nous recherchons rue des Carmelites.

The old mans face took on a guarded expression.

Id seen that look before at The Lamb when a stranger dropped by of an evening to ask if anyone knew where he might find his 'good friend Dutch Max. Now, we all knew that meant he was after spirits siphoned off the docks to trade, but how could you tell if he was honest or a nark? A mistake like that could land you in trouble with the customs boys, and I could tell old spindleshanks was thinking something along those lines as Lucca finished up.

'Joseph. Joseph Peck. Est-il ici?

The name seemed to freeze the air.

'Non.

The old gent span around sharp and tried to close the door, but Lucca wedged it open with his foot.

'Sil vous plat, monsieur. Cest sa sur. He pulled me into the light. I couldnt follow the chat, but I recognised the words for 'please and I saw the way the old man started.

'Mon Dieu! He delved into a pocket and produced a kerchief fringed with more delicate lace. I caught the powerful waft of sweet cologne as he flapped it open and dabbed at his temples. His watery eyes flicked over my face and then moved on to take in the rest of me. I was reminded of the woman wed met a few minutes back. When hed satisfied his curiosity he raised an eyebrow to Lucca and held the half door open wider, motioning for us to come through.

'Suivez-moi. Je vais vous prendre lui.

'What did he just say?

Lucca took my hand. We followed the old man down a short dingy hallway that kinked right and suddenly opened into a street flanked by a garden on one side and a single fine broad house on the other. I looked up behind us and saw that, just as I thought, rue du Colombier was screened off from rue des Carmelites by nothing more than a thick wall painted and tricked up on the outside to resemble the front of a house. I say 'rue, but it was more like a courtyard. Light from many windows pooled on the golden flagstones spread out before us and I could hear music and laughter coming from inside.

Luccas grip tightened. '"I will take you to him." Thats what he just said, Fannella.

Chapter Four.

There was a sort of triangle made of stone set over the wide double doors and some curling words I couldnt make out carved into a roundel at the centre. I nudged Lucca.

'Whats it mean up there? Its Latin, right?

He took off his hat, pushed his hair back from his left eye and looked up. His lips moved as he mouthed the script to himself. 'It is Italian, not Latin. They are words from Dante, from LInferno hell. He frowned, confused, but immediately I saw it for what it was another of The Ladys tricks.

I stared up at the fancy writing. There was a small dead bird lodged in the corner of the stonework, its tufted head lolled over the edge. Nanny Peck always said birds were messengers it was another one of her superstitions. Depending on the type, they brought good news or bad news. Robins and song thrushes, they always had something pleasant to tell you, whereas birds with black feathers, they wasnt so welcome.

She never mentioned dead birds.

I shivered and gathered up my skirts to climb the steps.

'Well, that sounds about right. I get Paradise and my brother gets the other place.