Cat Among the Pigeons (7 page)

‘Don't you think you'd better stay here in case you're wanted, Pedro? If it is them, I'll ask them to come to the Green Room before the performance.'

‘Cat! If you don't get down here now, I'll skin you!' shouted Mr Salter.

‘Coming!' I grabbed hold of the nearest rope and slid down it, much to Mr Salter's horror.

‘You could have used the stairs, you little
hoyden,' he said, handing me a thick sheaf of tickets. ‘Now get yourself off to Brook's, the gentlemen's club in St James. Do you know it?' I nodded. ‘Just ask at the door. They're expecting a messenger from Drury Lane. Make sure you get a receipt.'

Outside, the day did not seem to have dawned even though it was near midday. Fog, mixed with the smoke of thousands of coal fires, had brewed a spell for invisibility. Hackney cabs rattled down Drury Lane blind to everything but the feeble will-o'-the-wisp lamps of the carriage in front. Woe betide anyone who dared to cross without taking due care! The jarveys would probably just ride over you in this weather and not worry too much about the bump under their wheels. I stuck to the pavement, weaving my way through the crowds. On the corner of Long Acre, a gaggle of gullible country bumpkins had clustered around a card sharp as he waved a pack of cards under their noses.

‘Pick a card, gents – any card,' I heard him intone as I passed. ‘And I bet you a shilling I can tell you which one it is.'

‘Course you will, Joe,' I called out, then muttered in his ear, ‘it's the one you'll palm off on them from up your sleeve.'

Joe ‘The Card' Murray grinned and caught my arm. He was one of the less respectable members of Syd's gang. His gold tooth glinted in the light of the shop window behind him.

‘'Ow's you, Cat? 'Ow's Prince?'

‘Bearing up, Joe. Are you coming tonight?'

‘Course. Purchased me ticket first I 'eard of it.' He looked at his listeners – their attention was beginning to wander. ‘Right, the little lady 'ere is goin' to 'ave first guess. Take a card, miss.' I plucked a card from his hand, seeing if I could spot the exchange, but he was too quick for me. He paused dramatically, hand pressed to his forehead in earnest thought. ‘I think it's the ace of spades.'

I turned the card over. It was the four of
diamonds. The bumpkins laughed.

‘You owe her a shilling,' one called out.

‘That I do.' Joe presented me with a shilling. ‘Spend it wisely, little miss. 'Ow about some nice satin ribbons?' He opened his jacket to display a rainbow of ribbons dangling there.

‘Not now, Joe, I'm on an errand. See you later.'

Joe turned back to his audience, undaunted by his failure. I knew exactly why he'd done it: if his audience thought they stood a fair chance of winning, they'd be freer with their shillings. His loss to me was a good investment.

I turned south, giving the patch known as the Rookeries a wide berth. My old enemy, Billy Shepherd, had increased his grip on the streets of St Giles since we last met. Rumour had it that he was now the top man in the district, thanks to a few throat-cuttings and arson attacks on those who had held out against him. I would certainly not be welcome if I strayed into his territory. He still had a price on my head following our last
encounter in the holding cells of the Bow Street Magistrate's Court.

Now the crooked streets of Covent Garden gave way to the wider carriageways of Piccadilly. The people on the pavements were noticeably smarter. I counted six gold pocket watches in the space of a hundred yards and at least three pickpockets – a sure sign of riches. The shops were also a good deal more flash. James Lock & Co. displayed an array of hats like an aviary of exotic birds. Gray's, the jewellers, tempted the purse with ropes of pearls and trays of gold rings like a pirate's cave.

Finally I reached Brook's, mounted the steps and rang the bell.

‘Yes?' a footman challenged me pompously.

‘I'm the messenger from Drury Lane,' I said breathlessly.

‘They sent a girl – to Brook's?' Incredulity was written all over his face.

‘As you can see.' I silently cursed Mr Salter, who no doubt thought it funny to send me here
knowing the chance that I'd be refused entry.

‘We don't allow females.'

‘I know. I don't want to put my foot across your poxy threshold. I just want to deliver my message. You can take it in for me, if you want.'

The footman frowned. ‘I can't do that, miss. The member was most insistent that he receive the message in person. There's a receipt to go back.'

I'd forgotten that part. Mr Salter had mentioned something about it.

‘Well, you'd better smuggle me in then,' I said, amused by the expression of horror working its way across his face. ‘I'll try not to be too obviously female. I'll keep the swoonings to a minimum and promise I'll have only one fit of the vapours.'

The footman curled his lip. ‘You – the vapours! Ha! Brats like you can't afford that luxury.' This was very true but need he rub it in? ‘Come on then, follow me and keep quiet. I'll take you up by the backstairs.'

Quickly checking that no one was watching,
the flunkey marched me across the black-and-white tiled foyer, through a swing door and into the servants' hall. Ignoring the shocked looks of the off-duty footmen, he led me up to the second floor.

‘He's in the billiard room,' the footman explained as we walked quickly along the carpeted hallway to a door at the end of the corridor.

‘The messenger from Drury Lane, sir,' he announced, ushering me in.

The first thing I noticed on entering the room was a great expanse of green cloth scattered with shiny balls. The second was Mr Kingston Hawkins crouching over the table at the far side, holding a long cue. He took aim and struck a white ball hard. It collided with a black one and sent it rocketing into the pocket directly in front of me.

‘Well, well,' said Hawkins, standing to take a chalk from the edge of the table and rubbing the end of his cue. ‘This sure is an unexpected bonus. That, gentlemen, is the little liar I mentioned. You
can leave us, Michael. I'll send for you when we've finished our business together.'

‘Very good, sir.' The footman bowed.

The door clicked shut behind him. Out of the shadowy fog of tobacco smoke emerged four or five other gentlemen. A second billiard player approached the table, cue in hand.

‘Good shot, Hawkins,' he said. ‘I see you've not lost your touch while you've been away.'

‘Indeed not.' They seemed to be talking about more than just billiards. I stood with bowed head, wondering what would happen next.

‘You've brought me the tickets?' Hawkins asked, closing in on me around the table.

‘Yes, sir.' I held them out and was cross to see my hand was trembling.

‘Good.' His eyes were fixed on my face. He reached out to take the tickets but then, at the last moment, changed direction and seized my hand in his fist. His palm felt strong and hot to the touch. He pulled me towards him, the tickets waving between us like a fan. ‘Intriguing, ain't it,
gentlemen? She pretended my boy was dead to stop me getting him back. That's theft when you think about it. She's kinda young to be so evil.'

Me – evil! Well, that was rich coming from him. I looked up into his fierce blue eyes and was stunned to see that he really believed what he was saying.

A man stepped into the light from my right. He was in clerical dress and wore a white wig square over a face with a bulbous nose. Taking a monocle from his pocket, he peered at me short-sightedly.

‘Interesting, Hawkins, very interesting. It's the riff-raff of her sort that are sapping the very marrow of our empire – attacking property rights like a canker in a once healthy body, undermining our very constitution. Left to run riot, you get the kind of nonsense we see in France – kings humbled, butchers and bakers raised up in their place.'

‘Good grief, Dr Juniper!' said the other man with a cue. ‘You make her sound very dangerous.
All I see is a scruffy urchin wondering when she's going to get her tip for carrying her message. Hardly a portent of the millennium!'

‘Ah, that's where you're wrong, Ferdinand, quite wrong,' said the doctor.

‘Yes,' said Mr Hawkins with an exultant smile, ‘let's have a better look at the creature.' He let go of my wrist and seized me by the waist. Before I knew it, I was standing on the billiard table directly under the candelabra.

‘Mind the cloth!' protested Ferdinand, not at all bothered on my account but staring in concern at my muddy boots.

‘Let me down!' I said, adding reluctantly, ‘Please!'

‘No, no, not until we've finished, missy,' said Hawkins gleefully. ‘You see, gentlemen, I'm an expert in judging human specimens. It's my stock-in-trade – I do it all the time in the slave markets. I knew that my boy Pedro was gifted from the angle of his brow. Now, this gal here –'

‘Ah! I see it,' said Dr Juniper. ‘The red hair
and green eyes of an Irishwoman – an inferior race, as I'm sure we all agree, only one step up from the African and Asiatic savage. And observe her thin, stunted stature.' He took up Mr Hawkins' billiard cue and pointed to me as if in a lecture hall. ‘Clearly not strong. I've no doubt she'll end in an early grave.'

‘And do you see the shape of her skull?' Mr Hawkins continued. ‘I've seen the same on some of my slaves – all of them have been liars with no respect for authority. It's in the space between the eyes – I can always tell. I make sure they're assigned to particularly hard labour to keep them down.'

‘Very wise,' nodded the doctor.

‘I pity your slaves, you stinking dog turd,' I hissed at Hawkins, unable to stomach any more of this humiliation. ‘Let me go.'

Hawkins shook his head and prodded me back into place. ‘And then of course there's the limited vocabulary and resort to obscenities – another mark of the dull-witted. But the final
proof is in the teeth.' He hooked my upper arm and dragged me towards him. ‘You'll get some work from even the meanest specimen if their teeth are good.' The gentlemen laughed and clustered round to take a closer look. One blew a stream of pipe smoke in my face. Hawkins thrust a finger and thumb into my mouth like a horse-dealer inspecting a nag at the fair. I tried to pull away but his other hand was clamped on my neck. ‘Hmm. Not bad – I'd buy her if she came up at a bargain price.'

That was the final straw. I bit down on Hawkins' thumb.

‘You little witch!' he shouted, pulling his hand away.

‘You can stick your tickets up your bum,' I shouted, anger coursing through me as I cast the tickets into the air like confetti. ‘And you can shove the receipt where the sun don't shine.'

I ran across the billiard table, kicking balls in all directions, and jumped off the other side. There was a door – I hoped it was my escape
route. I threw it open and found myself in a vast library full of men in leather armchairs. The door banged against the wall. The murmur of quiet talk died, replaced by a horrified silence. They were looking at me as if I was something particularly disgusting that the cat had dragged in. Just at that moment, I hated them and everything they represented. ‘And to hell with you lot too!' I shouted as I streaked across the polished floor. My heavy boots made an echoing noise as I galloped through, upsetting side tables and decanters in my passage. At the far side, I crashed into a waiter carrying a tray of drinks. Wine glasses exploded all around me as they hit the ground. Past caring, I ran full pelt down the stairs, ducking under arms that reached out to stop me, and burst out of the front door.

‘And that,' I heard one crusty member say loudly as I bolted on to the street, ‘is exactly why we don't admit females.'

An hour to curtain up. Pedro's chief supporters
were gathered in the Green Room to plan how to distribute our forces for that evening.

‘And what did you do then, Cat?' asked Syd, rubbing the back of his neck in bewilderment.

‘And then I bit him.'

Pedro whooped and clapped his hands as Joe ‘The Card' grinned like a basket of chips. Mr Equiano gave a throaty chuckle. Mr Kemble patted me on the shoulder, trying not to appear too pleased. Lizzie was the only one to look worried.

‘I hope you bit him good and hard,' said Frank, leaning over his sister's shoulder.

‘I drew blood,' I said with satisfaction. ‘He tastes disgusting.'

‘That'll teach him,' said the duchess approvingly. She sat back in her chair, breathing in the air with relish. Surrounded by actors in costume, she clearly felt at home.

‘What happened next?' asked Lizzie. Her jewelled headdress glowed against her dark hair and I had already noticed a number of admiring
glances coming her way from the stage crew. It was rare to see the real thing backstage. Here, we're all paint and paste that doesn't bear too close an inspection; Lizzie's a true beauty in any light.

‘I ran for it, telling them . . .' I remembered to whom I was talking. ‘Well, telling them what they could do with their tickets. Oh, and I may have said something along the same lines to the members in the library.' My temporary exhilaration drained away as it struck me that I probably hadn't heard the last of my exhibition of female hysteria in Brook's.

‘You've certainly put the cat among the pigeons,' said Frank.

The duchess noticed my glum expression. ‘Don't fret, Miss Royal – those clubs could do with a kick up the –'

‘At least,' interrupted Frank quickly, ‘at least we know for certain that Hawkins is going to be here tonight. We'd better continue with our plan. In view of what's just happened, Cat, I suggest
you keep a low profile. That leaves the rest of us. We need to put our supporters in every part of the house as we don't know where Hawkins might strike. It's imperative our side drowns his men out. Syd, you take the gods – Joseph will be there to help. Mama and Lady Elizabeth will be in our box, of course. We're expecting Father to join them with some allies from the House of Lords. I'll be in the Pit with Mr Equiano and Mr Sharp. The other members of the Society will be sprinkled about in the gallery.'