Cat Among the Pigeons

by Julia Golding

  ‘Of course I’ll come,’ I said. ‘Can I borrow your cloak, Frank?’

  ‘But I’m coming as well,’ he said.

  ‘So am I,’ declared Charlie.

  ‘The more the merrier, as far as I’m concerned,’ said Syd.

  ‘But I still need a cloak – something to hide me from curious eyes.’

  ‘My guess is,’ said Syd, rubbing his chin, ‘that’s what this is all about. ’E knows you’re in trouble and wants a chance to crow.’

  Frank handed me his spare cloak.

  ‘You may be right,’ I said, throwing it on and pulling up the hood. ‘And if I were him, I’d probably want the chance myself, seeing how we parted on such good terms when last we met.’

  Syd’s boys were lounging outside the Pantheon, waiting for their leader. The gang had grown since I last saw it gathered in one place. The ranks had been swelled by a score of heavily built, large-fisted individuals – chums from the boxing ring, Syd explained. I wondered how many of them had pledged their allegiance to my friend after being floored by his formidable right hook – quite a few from the evidence of their squashed noses.

  Syd gave them a brief inspection. They were all turned out in their best as if ready for a night on the town. Syd brushed off the lapels of his own claret jacket – a new purchase in honour of the occasion, I guessed. Leading a gang was all about commanding respect. Syd did not want to fall short in his boys’ eyes when meeting his rival. Though from the sound of it, Billy Shepherd was promoting himself into another league altogether, far from his roots in the small beer of controlling a market. Syd had been made the uncrowned king of Covent Garden because he was well liked by his fellow shopkeepers and stall-holders and trusted to exercise his own brand of rough justice in a reasonably fair manner. Billy had always been more interested in what he could get for himself and had been trusted by no one.

  Nick, Syd’s second in command, greeted me warmly before turning to Syd.

  ‘The Boil’s got a private room for the meetin’. We’re to go in by the side entrance.’

  This was just as well. I doubted that the footmen of the Pantheon would welcome a crowd of burly lads breaking in upon the night’s entertainment. From the strains of the orchestra coming out of the grand pillared entrance, there appeared to be a ball or concert in progress.

  ‘Right you are. Fall in, lads,’ said Syd. I found myself surrounded by some of the biggest boys in the gang, sandwiched between them so that I was almost carried along off my feet. Syd had been serious in his promise to keep me safe.

  The doorman let in the Butcher’s Boys without a word, indicating that we should proceed up the carpeted stairs to the plush hall above. Bright candles in wall brackets lit our way, reflected from the tarnished gilt mirrors that covered the walls. It reminded me a little of the corridors of Drury Lane and I felt a pang of regret that I wasn’t going home tonight. We marched up, like an invading army, and arrived outside a white-painted double door. Syd thumped once and the doors were thrown open. In spite of himself, he hesitated on the threshold, taken aback by what he saw before him. The room was like an enormous box in the theatre, except it looked out on a ballroom filled with couples, brilliant as butterflies, all dancing to the music of a full orchestra on a stage at the far end. The ballroom was circular with an ornate painted ceiling – the largest dome I’d seen outside of St Paul’s. Rather than being deafened by the noise of the instruments, we heard the music as if from a great distance, thanks to the barrier provided by the glass-panelled doors that opened out on to a balcony.

  ‘Lovely, ain’t it?’ said Billy Shepherd, stepping forward, his hand outstretched to Syd. He had filled out since I last saw him; he looked both older and more impressive. He wore a shiny purple jacket like a beetle’s shell over immaculate white breeches. His dark hair was fashionably styled, tied back in a black bow, but his teeth were as rotten as ever and I was pleased to see that his boil had swelled on the end of his nose, despite his best efforts to improve his appearance. At eighteen, he was now in his prime. But if his rise had been meteoric, his fall was likely to be as swift. Gang leaders of his sort did not expect to live much beyond twenty unless they were extraordinarily lucky – if the law didn’t get them, a rival would. In the poorer streets where I come from, everyone knows that if you make it to twenty-five, you’re fortunate – thirty is positively ancient.

  Syd looked at the hand Shepherd held out to him as if it were a pound of rotten offal before reluctantly shaking it. I glanced round quickly and counted twenty of Shepherd’s boys, along with a few girls in gaudy dresses, who were lounging against the walls. We were the stronger party by far.

  ‘Very pretty, Shepherd,’ said Syd with the closest thing to a sneer I had ever heard him use.

  ‘You see, Fletcher, I’ve gone up in the world since we last met.’ With evident self-satisfaction, Billy gestured to his new empire.

  ‘He means up from louse to cockroach, I suppose,’ I said in a stage whisper, causing a splutter of laughter from my end of the room.

  Shepherd spun round quickly and spotted me in the middle of my guard. He gave me his old familiar crocodile grin. ‘So you did bring Cat after all. That’s good. I was beginning to fear that I was goin’ to ’ave to with’old my information. But we can’t ’ave a lady standin’ while we sit, can we, Fletcher? Won’t you join us?’ He gestured to a table with three chairs by the glass doors, set ready with wine glasses and a decanter. I looked to Syd, who gave me a nod, so I stepped forward to join them. Shepherd pulled out a chair with a flourish and waited for me to sit down. I did so, keeping my cloak wrapped tight around me. ‘Wine?’ Billy asked. ‘I’ll water it down for the little ’un if she can’t take the strong stuff yet.’

  ‘Nothing for me,’ I said quickly. ‘I’d rather drink Fleet ditch water than anything you have to offer. I just want to hear what you’ve got to say about Pedro.’

  Shepherd appeared to be enjoying himself immensely despite, or maybe because of my rudeness. ‘All in good time, my dear.’ He poured Syd and himself a large glass of claret. ‘It’s a treat to ’ear our Cat, again, ain’t it, Syd? You must be missin’ ’er silver tongue. My girls are all too afraid of me – no one gives me cheek like she does.’ He raised his glass to me and drank deeply. Syd took a sip of his, wisely keeping quiet. Syd and I both knew that Shepherd would get to the point sooner or later.

  Shepherd gestured to my cloak. ‘You cold or somethink, Cat?’

  ‘No.’ Indeed, it was warm in here thanks to the fire roaring in the grate.

  ‘Then let me take your cloak.’

  ‘N-no!’ I protested, but too late: he’d tugged on the hood and revealed my shaven head. The sight of it sent him into a peal of laughter.

  ‘Wot you done to yourself, Cat?’ He leaned closer so that I could smell his stale breath. ‘Still got the curls wot you cut off? If you ’ave, I’ll give you a shillin’ for ’em for the wig-maker.’

  ‘Go hang yourself, Boil,’ I spat back. Syd tensed, gripping the stem of his glass so hard that it was in imminent danger of snapping.

  Shepherd sat at his ease and wiped his eyes. ‘No ’ard feelin’s, Cat, but you look so queer, wot with that crop and them there bruises. Not been usin’ ’er for a punchbag, ’ave you, Fletcher? I thought you were sweet on ’er. You’ve a strange way of showin’ your affection. You’d’ve been better off stickin’ with me, Kitten.’

  The wine glass smashed and Syd got up abruptly.

  ‘Just jokin’, Fletcher, just jokin’,’ said Shepherd. ‘You won’t ’ear wot I’ve got to say about Blackie if you fly off the ’andle like that.’

  Syd sat down, his face flushed. I too felt hot under the collar, but more because I didn’t like Shepherd’s teasing about Syd and me. Syd was like a big brother. I’d hate to think of him in any other light.

  Shepherd grinned at us. ‘That’s better. Now, I asked you ’ere to tell you that your boy’s all right – kept close but still in the land of the livin’.’

/>   ‘Where is he?’ I asked.

  ‘Why are you tellin’ us this?’ said Syd at the same time. I realized at once that his was the more pertinent question.

  Shepherd poured himself another glass. ‘Well, for a start, I know that you won’t be able to touch ’im where ’e is, so “why not?” I asked meself when I woke up this mornin’. Second, ’e’s asked to see Cat. ’E wants to say goodbye.’

  ‘What? I don’t believe you!’ I exclaimed.

  ‘Ain’t you the suspicious sort, Cat? Let me put it another way: I asked ‘im if there was anyone ’e’d like to see afore ’e went and ’e said you. I don’t s’pose ’e thought for one minute that I’d try and bring you to ’im – ’e ’as me down as an ’ard-’earted cove, but I’ve nothink against ’im personally and I don’t ’old with slavery, so I thought, why not give ’im wot ’e wants?’

  I didn’t believe any of that. It was either a trap or he was merely amusing himself by playing us along. We couldn’t even be sure that he had seen Pedro as he claimed.

  ‘You’re thinkin’ that I’m spinnin’ you a load of moonshine, ain’t you, Cat?’ said Shepherd, tipping me a wink.

  I didn’t reply.

  ‘Well, I’ve got somethink that’ll convince even you.’ He placed a pearl earring on the table. We all recognized it immediately as Pedro’s. ‘Perhaps you might like to give it back to ’im, Cat? Poor blighter won’t ’ave much where ’e’s goin’.’

  ‘You’ll take us to him,’ said Syd, more as a command than a question.

  ‘Very funny,’ said Shepherd with a bark of laughter. ‘Take you so that you can spring ’im from ’is hidin’ place? I don’t think so. Nah, I’ll take Cat and no one else.’

  ‘Out of the question,’ said Frank suddenly, stepping forward from the ranks and laying a hand on my shoulder.

  Shepherd leant back in his chair and squinted up at Frank. ‘Eh, Cat, your lucky day, ain’t it? You’ve got yourself another protector. I remember ’im – dressed as a soot last time we met. I’d say you’ve gone up in the world too since then, my lord.’

  Frank glowered at him and tightened his grip.

  ‘If I’d known then that you were a gent, I’d’ve finished you off there and then,’ said Shepherd affably. ‘But now we’re to be friends, ain’t we? I do you a good turn now, and maybe you’ll get me a seat in the ’Ouse in a few years, eh?’

  Frank ignored this – it wasn’t worthy of a response.

  ‘Cat’s not goin’ on ’er own,’ said Syd.

  ‘Course not, she’ll be with me,’ said Shepherd with a smile so wide you could count his rotten teeth. ‘And I don’t expect you to take my good behaviour on trust, Fletcher. You’ve got the money – and I’ll throw in me gang too. You can cut the throats of the lot of ’em if she doesn’t return by two in the mornin’.’

  This announcement was met by much alarmed muttering from Shepherd’s boys.

  ‘Shut it, you lot,’ he snarled. ‘Nothink will ’appen to any of you ’cos I’ll be back ’ere to finish my wine well before the deadline.’

  I could tell he’d been planning this all along. That was the reason the meeting was on neutral ground, and that was why he’d asked Syd to bring all his men: he wanted to make sure we’d believe him. But what possible interest could he have in taking me to see Pedro? Then again, I asked myself, did his motives matter? If I could see Pedro, we’d surely be better off than we were at the moment?

  ‘I’ll go,’ I said firmly, shaking off Frank’s hand.

  Syd was struggling with his desire to help Pedro and his instinct to protect me. ‘Shepherd, you promise not to let anyone else ’arm ’er – not the law, not no one?’

  ‘Promise.’ Shepherd’s eyes glittered mischievously.

  ‘And you go unarmed?’

  ‘Of course.’ He stood up and emptied an assortment of knives and ugly-looking wires from his various pockets.

  ‘Don’t forget your boot,’ I said, remembering a particularly long night spent with him in the Bow Street lock-up.

  Shepherd grinned at me and took out a long, thin blade from his boot and threw it on the table.

  Frank seized Syd’s arm. ‘This is madness, Syd. You can’t let her go with him. We’ll never see her alive again!’

  Shepherd looked directly at Syd. ‘I give you me word that I’ll not ’arm an ’air of ’er ’ead – not that she’s got many of those left.’

  ‘Why should we trust you?’ Frank asked.

  Shepherd shrugged. ‘I’m not askin’ you to trust me. You’ve got me money, me boys, even me own beloved knives – that’s what you should trust, Dook.’

  ‘We’re not goin’ to get any more from ’im, Frank,’ said Syd. ‘Either we let Cat go or we kiss goodbye to our chance to ’elp Prince.’

  None of us liked it – me least of all – but Shepherd had us over a barrel.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ I said irritably, doing my best to hide my fear, ‘the sooner we go, the sooner I’ll be back.’

  Syd drew me aside while Shepherd donned his street clothes.

  ‘Cat,’ he whispered. ‘Just in case.’ And he pressed the thin blade Shepherd had removed from his boot into my hand. I nodded and slipped it inside my cloak. I prayed that I would not have to use it.

  SCENE 3 – RATS’ CASTLE

  ‘Right then, Kitten, follow me!’ declared Shepherd in great good humour.

  ‘Don’t call me Kitten,’ I grumbled as I followed him down the stairs. ‘Only my friends call me that.’

  Shepherd laughed. ‘But I am your friend, Kitten – for tonight anyways. We ’ave a score to settle, you and I, but it can wait for another day.’

  ‘You may feel in a friendly humour, fine, but just don’t call me Kitten.’

  ‘All right, all right . . . Moggy.’

  It was breathtakingly cold on the street after the warmth of the glass room. Shepherd kept up a fast pace, forcing me to trot beside him to keep up.

  ‘You know, Moggy,’ he said suddenly, coming to a halt outside a brightly lit tavern, ‘I feel sorry for you.’

  ‘What?’ I panted.

  ‘On the run, no ’ome, pretendin’ to be a boy with your ’air and everythink – don’t think I don’t know why you done it. I could look after you, y’know.’

  ‘Look after me? Oh yes, I know your kind of tender loving care. You’d lead me a merry dance, I’ve no doubt, ending with me cutting a caper on nothing when you sell me out to the Beak.’

  ‘You’ve got me all wrong,’ said Shepherd with mock sorrow. ‘The last thing I want is to see you ’anged.’

  ‘No, but that’s only because it’s the first thing you want.’

  Shepherd gave a shout of laughter. ‘You’re no fool, Cat. I bet you’ll die damned ’ard and bold as brass when your time comes on the platform. I look forward to it.’

  I was too cold to have any appetite to continue this exchange. I just wanted to see Pedro. ‘Look, Billy, did you drag me out here only to bait me?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nah, Moggy, we need to make a turn down ’ere.’

  Shepherd led the way into a narrow alley that ran between the tavern and a warehouse. It was the kind of place I’d normally avoid like the plague as it headed into the Rookeries – the maze of crumbling houses and courtyards that had given Shepherd his start on the road to power and riches. I glanced around me before committing myself. A couple of men lounging outside the tavern were watching me, the light pouring from the window gilding their drab clothes with temporary splendour. I turned back. Shepherd’s black cloak was disappearing into the darkness – I’d lose him if I didn’t hurry.

  ‘In for a penny, in for a pound,’ I muttered, stealing myself to take the plunge.

  I found him waiting for me at the other end of the alleyway. ‘Stick close, Cat,’ he said in a low voice, taking my elbow. ‘You’ll come to no ’arm as long as you’re with me.’

  I remembered my last visit to the Rookeries – the night Shepherd tried to cut my throat. The smell
was as rank, the streets as dirty, the buildings as crazed as they had been then. But there was one major change: no one approached us or tried to rob me. Instead, as we passed the beggars huddled on doorsteps, the men and women clustered in the doorways to the gin palaces and grotty taverns, they all stood to attention.

  ‘Evenin’, Mr Shepherd,’ said one red-nosed Irishman, tipping his hat to my companion. A street-walker in a ragged petticoat dropped a curtsey.

  Shepherd acknowledged their greetings with a slight nod of his head.

  ‘You see, Cat, I’m all they’ve got. I’m king, judge and jury to ’em. I’m more of a ruler ’ere than King bleedin’ George on his bleedin’ throne. My word is life or death.’

  And he was loving it, lapping up the signs of fearful respect his passage through the Rookeries was prompting from his unfortunate subjects. To command this kind of attention from the most hard-bitten and desperate of London’s poor, he must have done some terrible things to them. I wondered how many he’d killed, how many businesses he’d done over, whom he’d bribed. It was then I understood what I was doing here: Billy was a born showman suffering from lack of an audience. He had arranged all this to impress me, his sworn enemy. Not that I was much of a threat to him: he knew he could swat me like a fly if he wanted. To send one of his boys after me on a dark night would be the work of a moment. But he wanted more than this: he wanted to convert me. He knew I despised him; he wanted me to admire him. Well, he could fling his cap after me – he’d come to the wrong person if he wanted even the most grudging esteem.

  ‘Remember, Cat, I once offered you a share in all this?’ he said with a sweep of his arm at his kingdom. ‘Funny really, now I think about it. You’re such a queer little thing, but there’s somethink about you that . . . well, that . . .’as promise. You’re like me: I started from nothink and now I’ve got me foot on the first rung of the ladder to ’igh society.’

  ‘Oh, please!’ I snorted.

  ‘You’ll see,’ said Shepherd, refusing to be offended by my scorn, ‘money can buy a ’ell of a lot of blue blood. You got your claws into those Avons by your own nous, didn’t you? You must be clever enough to understand ’ow it can be done.’