Cat Among the Pigeons (26 page)

By the time we arrived back ashore, we found the fish market had been transformed into a battleground. Groaning bodies and blood were strewn across the snow, splashes of scarlet on what had been glistening white. Milly and the younger Miss Millers were ministering to the injured, picking their way across smashed crates and crunching over oyster shells.

‘What on earth's been happening here?' asked Mr Equiano.

‘It was the mob from the Rookeries,' explained Milly, wiping her own cut lip with a lace handkerchief. Charlie hastened to her side but she waved him away. ‘It's nothing – I just caught an elbow in the face. They were lying in wait for the Butcher's Boys – but we won.' She smiled, then winced as her lip began to bleed again.

I now noticed that among the fallen were several liveried footmen as well as Elias Jones. He
had a nasty knife wound to his cheek.

‘Is anyone seriously hurt?' asked Lizzie anxiously as the runners began to move among the injured, checking them over.

‘Fortunately, no. It was mainly fists until an ugly thug arrived just before you landed. He had a knife. He slashed at anyone in reach, then whistled and the whole gang moved off, carrying their injured away.'

Constable Lennox gave a nod to two of his men. ‘See if you can catch up with them and make sure you arrest that one with the knife.'

I knew it was too late. Shepherd would have disappeared back into the Rookeries. They had no more chance of catching him than trapping water in their hands. But Lennox had to look as if he were doing something before a duchess.

‘How's Syd?' I asked, not seeing him among the boys on the ground.

My answer was a bone-crushing hug from behind. ‘I'm all right, Cat,' he said. I wasn't so sure: his nose looked as though it was broken.
He had a puffy black eye and his clothes were in tatters. ‘I'm just relieved to see you and Prince alive. I thought Shepherd 'ad trapped you both good and proper. I was near desperate to get out on the water but 'e 'ad all 'is boys waitin' for us.'

‘You should have seen Mr Fletcher, Cat,' said Milly. ‘He laid about him with his fists like a second Samson.'

‘And you were pretty 'andy with that there umbrella of yours, if you don't mind me sayin', miss,' said Syd.

Milly blushed but looked very pleased at the compliment.

‘But your nose, Syd?' I asked.

‘Oh that? That's nothink. Got that earlier in the boxin' match. I'd just knocked 'im down when this lady strode into the ring, bold as brass, and told me what was up. You should've seen our faces. Never seen a lady at a fight before – except you, of course, Cat, but not a real, genuine top notch lady.'

‘Thanks, Syd,' I muttered.

‘You know what I mean, Cat. Anyways, I'll get me nose fixed when we get you 'ome.'

‘I can't go home just yet. I'm under arrest.'

‘Not again?' Syd groaned.

‘But not for long, we hope,' added Pedro, coming forward to shake Syd's hand. ‘So Shepherd didn't want you to come to my rescue. Then why tell Cat where I was?'

Syd shrugged. ‘I guess 'e wanted to trap 'er too. What d'you think, Cat?'

I didn't want to let on to them about the deal I had struck with Shepherd. They wouldn't approve. ‘I think it was his idea of fun,' I said lightly. ‘He wanted to see if I could free you on my own.'

‘He's evil,' commented Lizzie, shaking her head.

‘Not all evil,' demurred Pedro quietly. ‘He was the only one who was half-decent to me during my captivity. He brought Cat to see me, remember?'

‘But he was the one keeping you locked up!' Lizzie protested.

‘It wasn't personal,' Pedro said philosophically.

I agreed with Pedro: Billy was rotten but he had never had anything against my friend. Indeed, I had an inkling that Billy may have treated him well because he knew I cared for him. But that wasn't a pleasant thought. It reminded me too sharply of the complicated feelings Billy had for me, and standing here in the snow knowing that I had him to thank for saving Pedro, I knew that my attitude to him had become equally entangled. I hated him, of course, despised his way of life, naturally, but now there was a slight suggestion of gratitude, a glimmer of admiration for his diabolical cleverness in getting what he wanted from both Hawkins and me.

The runners commandeered hackney carriages to transport their two prisoners and the wounded back to Bow Street. Unfortunately, this meant I had to leave my friends to ride with the guards and Mr Hawkins. The slaver glared at me the whole way, no doubt wondering what
revenge he could exact despite everything. I knew my weak spot even if he didn't: Pedro. Hawkins was still technically my friend's master. If Pedro stepped beyond the protection of his English allies, most courts around the world would hand him over to Hawkins without a second thought. Our victory in preventing Pedro's removal from England was only partial. He would still be living in fear of Hawkins for the rest of his life.

‘Here we are, sir, miss,' said Constable Lennox, opening the door of the carriage.

We filed directly into the courtroom – no night in the holding cell for a gentleman of Mr Hawkins' standing. I was grateful for that. Sir John Solmes, the magistrate, had roused himself from his bed to meet us, wig askew, his eyes sleepy. I looked around in consternation: my friends had not yet arrived. I didn't want to face him on my own and I didn't like the feeling of being the only girl standing among all these great tall gentlemen. In my experience, there was some kind of secret understanding rich men shared.
I was not of their sex, nor even of their class: I was therefore beneath their notice.

‘What's all this?' the magistrate barked at his constable. ‘A Quaker maid in chains and a gentleman – why are they here at this time of night?'

‘I brought the gentleman in compliance with this writ, sir,' said Lennox, handing over the
habeas corpus
. ‘As for the girl – she's no Quaker. It's Cat Royal. You remember her, I think, sir.'

The magistrate rubbed his eyes and took a closer look at me. ‘Oh yes, I remember her very well. Has a taste for disguise this one. What is the charge? Can I commit her straight to Newgate and be done with it?'

Newgate! I didn't fancy my chances of survival beyond a few weeks if I was pitched into that prison. It was an evil place by all accounts – a place of violence, squalor and misery.

‘It was assault, sir, against the gentleman here,' said Lennox.

‘Good, good,' said the magistrate, reaching for his gavel.

‘Hold, man!' cried the duchess, flattening two runners behind the doors as she forced her way into the courtroom. Lizzie, Frank, Syd, Nick, Mr Equiano and Mr Sharp all followed. ‘Tell your flunkies to admit us. This is supposed to be a public hearing.'

‘Ah, your grace,' said the magistrate, looking at her with a fearful expression. I guessed he had already met her earlier that evening and had reason to tremble under the lash of her tongue. ‘Of course you must come in. Do take a seat. We will not be long.' And he raised his gavel again.

‘Wait!' said the duchess. ‘You've not heard the counter-charge against this man on behalf of the girl.'

‘Your grace, I am sorry to inform you that you must not speak out of turn. This is a court of law,' the magistrate said tentatively, the gavel drooping in his hand.

‘Then when is it my turn? Surely not after you've dispatched the child to prison?'

‘Er, of course not. She is entitled to representation in her defence.'

‘Then
I
am her defence. Can I speak now?'

Frank and Lizzie grinned at me, for once completely unembarrassed by their mother's forthrightness. If I hadn't been so worried, I would have enjoyed it too.

The magistrate coughed awkwardly. ‘It's most unorthodox,' (the duchess raised an eyebrow in warning), ‘but, yes, your grace, you may speak.'

The duchess bustled to the front of the courtroom and laid her ermine muff on his desk. Her be-ringed fingers glittered dazzlingly in the candlelight. It struck me now that the opposite sex probably banded together in their gentlemen's clubs because they were plain scared of viragos like the duchess. She was like Athena, goddess of wisdom and warfare, come to shake the mere mortal men out of their complacency.

‘I believe two charges are laid against Miss Royal – one for damages by the proprietor of Brooks, the other by this man who claims the accused bit him.'

Sir John nodded.

‘The damages to the club will be paid by the Duke of Avon – double if need be. As for the alleged assault, I wish to say in her defence that the man in question was humiliating her and holding her against her will – shameful conduct for a gentleman whose duty it is to protect the weaker sex.'

Weaker sex? She must be joking. It was Sir John who was trembling before her.

‘But that is all as nothing when set alongside the events of this evening when the same man, before many witnesses, including myself, tried to run her through with a sword.'

The magistrate let go of his gavel. ‘Is this true?' he asked Hawkins.

The slave owner gave a shrug. ‘She got in my way,' he said. ‘Someone should've drowned the
brat at birth – she's always in the way.'

Mr Sharp stepped forward. ‘You may like to offer Mr Hawkins the chance to drop his charge against Miss Royal in return for Miss Royal dropping the charge of attempted murder. Not an entirely fair exchange, but one which should be to the advantage of both parties.'

The magistrate scratched his chin. ‘What say you, Mr Hawkins?'

‘I'll drop the charge,' Hawkins conceded in a resentful tone.

‘Well, that seems to settle that then. Case dismiss–'

‘No!' I interrupted. ‘You haven't asked me yet. And I'm not dropping my charge against him.'

‘Cat!' hissed Pedro. ‘It's the only way!'

I steeled myself. ‘No, it isn't. I accuse Mr Kingston Hawkins of attempted murder,' I repeated loudly.

My friends murmured among themselves, alarmed at my rashness. A sardonic smile curved
Hawkins' lips like the slash of a knife.

‘The bantling wants to fight it out, does she?' he sneered.

‘I do. What's the maximum penalty for a bite? Gaol with hard labour?' The magistrate nodded. Neither of us added that this was tantamount to a death sentence for puny mortals like me. I had to pretend I thought I'd survive for this to work. ‘But for attempted murder – I'd say that's worth the gallows or transportation at the very least. No slaves to make your life comfortable in Botany Bay from what I hear. You'd be under a harsh master there yourself on the chain-gang. It'll do you good.'

Hawkins flicked his gaze from my face to the stern expression of the magistrate. The law officer said nothing to contradict my words.

‘What do you want?' Hawkins snarled at me.

‘Pedro's freedom – here and now, before all these witnesses.'

My friends gasped. Pedro stared at me in amazement.

‘No!' Hawkins was white with fury. ‘You're not getting that from me.'

‘That's what I want. If you won't give it to me, I'll happily do my stint in gaol just to know you'll be out of Pedro's way for many long years and perhaps forever.'

There was silence as we all waited for Hawkins' decision. My heart was thumping. Pedro's knuckles were white on the bar beside me.

‘All right!' Hawkins said at last. ‘You can have his freedom. He's worthless to me now in any case.'

I felt a huge wave of relief. Pedro was free of him. I looked Hawkins in the eye and grinned. ‘But not to me. To me, he's priceless. I drop my charge.'

The magistrate's gavel fell. ‘Case dismissed.' Sir John leaned forward and surprised me by giving Pedro an avuncular smile. ‘Oh, and if our Ariel so wishes, I would be honoured to stand godfather to his freedom. I have a nice big seal that no one will dispute.'

It was the last place I'd expected it, but clearly we had found another fan.

Cheers erupted from all quarters of the courtroom. Even Constable Lennox was seen to throw his hat in the air. Though disappointed in failing to nail me again, he still had the decency to enjoy the rescue of one of Covent Garden's favourite sons. Papers duly witnessed, Syd and Nick hoisted Pedro on their shoulders and led the procession back to Drury Lane. We had the good fortune to arrive just as the audience were leaving the performance. When the word spread as to what was afoot, scores joined the celebration, returning to the theatre for the impromptu party. Pedro was carried into the Pit, passed over the heads of the orchestra and placed centre stage next to Mr Kemble. The roof rang with whistles, cheers and applause. Pedro bowed and bowed – he'd never received such a standing ovation despite his previous triumphs. The crowd refused to give up.

Jostled aside by some eager spectators, I stood by one of the exits. Tears of joy streamed down my face as I saw Pedro had finally come home.