innocence! But perhaps he was innocent, and, in any event, I’d no time for him now. “I sold it in London.”
“Alas, an opportunity lost. May I ask what you got for it?”
It was none of his business, but what was the harm? “Ten thousand pounds.”
“But you could have earned twice that, at least, in Paris!”
That possibility just made me grumpier, not to mention reminding me that by embroiling myself in conspiracy in France I was cut off from my funds in England. If we traveled to Bohemia, our poverty would continue. I was once again for all practical purposes poor, surrounded by rich men, and drawn in conflicting directions. “I’m impressed that you’re in the stands of the highest notables,” I said, implying that perhaps he didn’t deserve to be here, either. Where the devil was Astiza?
“Yes. I remain a favorite of Josephine, even if Marguerite did get the commission for the crowns. But my seating is actually due to your new companion, Inspector Catherine Marceau. Such beauties you accumulate!”
“Inspector?”
“Yes, the woman in white.” He pointed at my confederate, far below.
I was confused. “You know Catherine?”
“We’ve done business together. Rumor holds she took the place of a strangled comtesse during the Terror and has been valiantly spying on England. As brave as she is lovely! She gave me the ticket for this seat.”
“She told you she’s a spy?” I said stupidly. Had Catherine made up a story about herself to secure our safety?
“An agent of the police. Your wife tragically lost and this new beauty at your side: what a lucky rogue you are, American!”
He thought my wife was still lost?
“And you must be doing well the way your mistress spends your money as if plucked by the vine. What an eye for jewelry she has!”
“Spends my money?” My understanding was officially lost.
“The new French francs and old English gold sovereigns she said you brought from London! Gorgeous coins for uncertain times. Here, look at the minting.” He reached in a vest pocket and brought out one that shone like the sun. Several spectators looked curiously in our direction. I was confused. Catherine had no money. What was Nitot talking about?
Gasps brought my attention back to the stage. Now Napoleon was kneeling, the pope droning on with a blessing and the emperor replying with a pledge. Censers swung on cue, incense drifting over the tableau. The substitution of the crowns would be revealed in moments. I looked down in the shadows toward Catherine and my family.
The comtesse was looking up at me, smiling as triumphantly as Josephine but with her teeth on display, ice white and perfect. A huge, looming figure had joined the group. It was Pasques, who took Astiza’s arm in his firm grip and pulled her deeper into the unseen choir, Harry dragged with them.
Catherine had no money.
Unless she’d not really lost her money in the Channel surf as she claimed when we came ashore, and had been lying to me ever since.
I blinked. Without thinking of it, my hand closed over Nitot’s hand and coin. Why had Catherine lied about losing her money? To selfishly keep it? Had she really been stealing from my purse in Paris, as well?
She looked up at me as if I were a joke. Was nothing true? Had the comtesse really wormed her way into Josephine’s retinue? Or had she been invited there from the very beginning, as a double agent operating in London to foil the American adventurer, Ethan Gage?
Why was she watching me now, instead of the coronation?
There was a bustle at our tier of seats. Gendarmes had appeared at either end of my row, searching faces for my own.
The critical moment had come. The pope ceased speaking, and Cardinal Belloy handed him a golden box, presumably containing the imperial crown. Napoleon stood and ascended the steps to the Catholic altar. The pope turned, took the box from Belloy with slow gravity, and opened it.
Pius froze in shock. No one could see what was inside, but I knew what he was viewing: the vines that had tortured Jesus. Catherine had succeeded after all, the greedy spendthrift! My relief was intense, the world spinning, while the church was absolutely silent except for the rustlings of twenty thousand onlookers waiting impatiently for the crowning.
Now the pope would lift out the Crown of Thorns, sharing his outrage and consternation with the whole world.
Except he had no time to.
Army Marshal Joachim Murat strode forward bearing a simple crown of golden laurel leaves on