Fool Me Once...
"I'm not finished yet. Not by any measure!"
She'd spat the words at him angrily on the staircase. No she thought to herself, she'd been nothing before and reinvented herself; she would do it again. You think she would have learned her lesson by now: look after number one, don't get involved with another's business and don't care about the people you're conning. She'd learned that the hard way...
She'd only been a child when her parents died from illness and hunger when she was about 5, she had grown up on the streets, ran wild with the other orphans in the courts and survived by begging, stealing and trickery. As she got older she found her looks both a blessing and a curse, anyone could beat her or do whatever they wanted to her and no one would stop them, no one would help her. The authorities didn't care about beggars; the guard wasn't there to help people like her; they only worried about bejeweled ladies in fine carriages. Young Marianne had been in awe of them back then; the delicate clothes they wore, their finely coiffed hair that shined, the way they carried themselves.
Louisa, one of the older beggars told stories of the banquets she had seen as a young maid in the palace when the old King was alive. Marianne hadn't believed the stories; surely there wasn't that much food in the whole of Paris but she'd wanted it; to wear beautiful clothes, to dance...to not feel the constant ache of hunger, but if begging had taught her one thing it was that the rich don't share by choice. She may have gotten the odd small coin from a merchant, but the finer the coat, the more horses on the carriage, the less they were willing to give to a half starved child, and the more likely they were to send a footman with a horse whip.
That was one thing you learned on the streets, to read people, after all, your life depended on it. You got to know who you could deal with, who would make a good mark or target for a con and who would stab you for even saying good morning; and Antoine had been a safe con. All was going well, she had already secured enough jewellery to keep her in luxury for a year; when his brother suddenly turned up and demanded it be returned or the guard would be informed. She'd known straight away there would be no talking her way out of this one, so she'd decided to visit François for a few weeks till things calmed down. François had been a street kid who'd joined the army. He worked hard, and saved, but the money to buy the inn came from his other talents, as an assassin. He'd taught her a little of his skill during their one cold Paris winter together years before, although it had fizzled out, they had stayed friends or as close as either of them had to friends, but both knew that their work was their real passion.
They had told everyone she was his cousin, visiting for a few weeks to learn more about running a business and she had played her part well and it had been fun to reacquaint herself with François but there was no question she would stay. She was a city girl, and this may be one of the larger towns but the limited opportunities and the need to keep François's reputation as a patron clean, meant entertainment was very limited: until he walked in...
