The Diamond of Drury Lane

by Julia Golding

  ‘’Ere, wot’s this?’ he crowed with delight. I was seized by the shoulder and pulled to my feet. ‘Well, well, a little pussycat pretendin’ to be a tom.’

  A hand snatched the cap from my head, letting my hair tumble over my face. I pushed it out of my eyes and looked furiously up into the face of Billy Boil. He was not looking at me now: he stood in the middle of a group of his followers, twirling my cap nonchalantly on an index finger, gazing about him to see if I was under anyone’s protection.

  ‘’Ere on your own? That’s very brave of you, ain’t it? Come to see lover boy fight?’

  ‘Give me that!’ I said in a fury, making a grab for my cap.

  ‘Oops!’ said Billy with a taunting smile as he sent the hat sailing over my head to a pox-faced boy on the other side. Pox-face dangled the cap just out of reach, pulling it away each time I jumped to snatch it back. Billy’s gang, simple minds all, hooted with laughter. I, however, was not amused. I felt hot with humiliation and was annoyed that I teetered so perilously close to tears.

  ‘Aw, look, boys! The little pussycat doesn’t like playing with us!’ jeered Billy when his sharp eye spotted me wipe away a tear of anger.

  Sick of their teasing, I tried to make a run for it, determined to abandon my hat if this was the only way of escape, but Billy stepped forward to catch me by the back of my jacket. Reluctant though I am to admit this, Reader, I have to say that Billy does have his boys well trained for his gang quickly formed a ring around me, shutting me in as well as hiding me from any friends who might be looking for me.

  ‘Such a shame she don’t like playing with us, for I ’eard Little Miss Cat wanted to be in a gang.’ Billy pulled me towards him. ‘I’d even ’eard that the blockhead butcher didn’t want ’er, so I thought to myself, I thought, why not let ’er join me gang? Add a bit of class, she would.’ Billy grabbed my cap from Pox-face and presented it to me with a bow. ‘Wot you say to that?’

  I took the hat suspiciously, expecting him to whip it away again at the last moment, but he didn’t. I quickly stuffed it back on my head and made a dash to escape. He gave another tug on my jacket, bringing me back like a fish on a line.

  ‘Not so fast. You ain’t given me your answer.’

  ‘Answer?’ I asked warily, feeling like a sheep surrounded by a pack of wolves.

  ‘Yeah. Do you want to join my gang?’

  I stopped pulling away from him.

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  I gazed up into Billy’s hard green eyes but saw no mockery in them, only cold calculation. ‘Why me?’

  He looked away and winked at his followers. ‘Gawd, girl, I’m not askin’ you to marry me nor nuffink! Why not you? You’re as good as many a boy I know . . . and better than some.’

  Despite myself, I felt a rush of pleasure to hear this compliment from Billy Shepherd of all people. He was offering me a chance to really belong in Covent Garden, to move from the sidelines where Syd had put me and join in with the boys’ adventures, to be party to the secret signs and passwords of a gang. I was tempted, sorely tempted. If only the offer had come from Syd, who I admired and trusted, and not from his devious rival! I would have to refuse, of course, but . . . I looked round the ring of faces, hard-bitten, tough characters all. What would they do to me when I said no?

  ‘That’s very decent of you, Billy,’ I began, backing away from him, looking for an escape route, a weak spot in the wall. Perhaps if I ducked under the biggest boy’s legs? ‘But you don’t want a girl like me in your gang.’

  He gave me a broad grin and tipped his hat back on his head. He smirked at his boys. ‘See, I’d told you I’d ’ave to woo ’er!’ He turned back to me. ‘You’re wrong, girl. That’s just what I want.’

  ‘But I’m useless at fighting . . . I’d let you down.’

  His grin, if anything, got wider. It was like looking into the jaws of a Nile crocodile waiting to swallow me up. ‘Don’t believe it, Cat. You’re a terror when your blood’s up . . . a real little wildcat with ’er claws out. Anyway, I want other talents in my gang than fightin’. I’ve got Meatpie Matt ’ere to do the punchin’.’ He gestured towards a burly lad not much smaller than Syd but with none of Syd’s blond good looks to recommend him. ‘Nah, I need you for somethink else.’

  I had backed as far as I could go without actually bumping into the ferret-featured boy with carrot-red hair on my side of the circle.

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked, curious despite myself to know what had prompted Billy to make so astonishing an offer. I could see how he might derive a twisted pleasure from taking one of Syd’s friends away from him, but it still seemed a very unlikely proposition.

  ‘It’s obvious, ain’t it?’ said Billy, rocking on his heels casually, though his eyes were still fixed on me. ‘Brains, Cat, brains. I want you for what you know . . . though, as you’re bein’ so slow on the old uptake, perhaps your reputation for wit and learnin’ is a case of misrepresentation?’ He said the last word proudly as he rarely indulged in words with more than two syllables.

  I was flattered. I had not known that I was so highly spoken of in the market. But his praise did not change the essentials of my position: I would have to rely on some of the brains for which I was famed to extricate myself from this circle. But how?

  Suddenly, a sooty boy burst through the outer guard into the middle of the circle.

  ‘There you are, Cat!’ exclaimed Lord Francis. ‘We wondered what had happened to you! I was very perturbed to find that you had not followed us.’

  ‘Per-what?’ guffawed Billy, grabbing Lord Francis by the lapels of his filthy jacket. ‘’Oo do you think you are, Sootie? A dook or somethink?’

  It was an alarmingly accurate guess. I could tell from the look on Lord Francis’s good-natured face that he had only just twigged he had walked in on a dangerous situation. He opened and shut his mouth like a fish landed at Billingsgate, but made no comprehensible sound.

  ‘Queer fellas you’re making friends with, Cat,’ said Billy, discarding Lord Francis by pushing him to one side into Meatpie Matt. Meatpie threw the peer of the realm to the floor like a ragdoll. ‘That’ll ’ave to stop, you understand? Can’t ’ave a girl in my gang mixin’ with the wrong sort.’

  ‘Er, Billy,’ I began, my eyes on the crumpled body of Lord Francis.

  ‘Yeah, Pussycat?’

  ‘I haven’t actually given you my answer yet.’

  Lord Francis started to scramble to his feet. Billy absentmindedly kicked him to the floor again and stood with his hobnailed boot on the neck of the duke’s son.

  ‘Wot was that you were sayin’?’ he said, his eyes sparkling maliciously. We both knew that if I refused to join him the pressure of his boot would increase.

  ‘Can I think about your offer?’ I asked lamely, though I knew what his answer was likely to be.

  ‘Sadly not. For a number of pressin’ reasons,’ he made Lord Francis gasp as he placed more weight on his neck, ‘I need an immediate acceptance.’

  My choices were not attractive. Refuse and face the consequences of being the reason why a member of the nobility is kicked to a pulp; accept and find myself under Billy’s leadership. I’d prefer to put my neck under his boot than do that. At least I could try to help Lord Francis, not least because his face was now an unbecoming shade of purple.

  ‘Billy, really it’s very decent of you . . . but no!’

  Even as I spoke, I put my head down and ran full pelt at him, taking him quite by surprise. I charged into his stomach, knocking us both to the floor, in the process achieving my aim of getting him away from Lord Francis. In the confusion that followed, Lord Francis scrambled to his feet and had the sense to run for it. I tried to do the same but found my ankle seized by Billy. I froze. There was no kind Mrs Peters to hide me today.

  ‘Wot you make of that, Billy?’ laughed Ferret-features. ‘Not a wildcat . . . a miniature bull, that’s wot she is!’

  The gang were all now
roaring with laughter at the ridiculous sight of their great leader floored by a girl half his size . . . all except Billy that is. He did not appreciate the joke. I could feel his hand shaking with anger, but he had to make light of it or risk losing their respect. I knew then I was in deep trouble.

  ‘Look, lads!’ he exclaimed, pulling on my ankle. ‘You saw that: she fair threw ’erself at me, she did. Couldn’t resist me!’

  ‘Let go, you beast!’ I shouted, kicking at him to release his grip, squirming and twisting on the muddy ground.

  Without looking at me, Billy tightened his hold and got to his feet, in effect dragging me up upside down so I was left dangling powerlessly. My ankle hurt hellishly in his fist and I could feel all the blood rush to my head. Billy was now pretending not to hear my protests, play-acting as if I did not exist. This his gang found even funnier.

  ‘Anyone ’ear that cat meowin’?’ he asked his gang loudly, cupping his free hand to his ear. ‘Sounds in a bad way. Perhaps someone should put it out of its misery.’

  The boys bellowed with laughter; Ferret-features doubled up with mirth. Then, suddenly, the laughter stopped. I felt the grip on my leg give way as I was dropped hurriedly to the floor. Next a pair of strong hands lifted me to my feet and clumsily brushed me down.

  ‘What you doing to Cat?’ asked Syd from behind me, his voice laced with menace.

  Billy’s grin had frozen on his face. He looked pale, tensing for a fight.

  ‘We were just playin’, weren’t we, Cat?’ said Billy. ‘’Avin’ a laugh.’ His right hand was feeling for something in his pocket. I caught a glimpse of a blade in his palm.

  ‘I didn’t see her laughing,’ said Pedro, pushing his way forward to stand beside me, Lord Francis with him.

  Billy shot Pedro a poisonous look and I could feel Syd’s bandaged hands tighten on my shoulders as he prepared himself for another battle. Panic fluttered in my stomach: I didn’t want to be the reason that more blood was split.

  ‘It was nothing, Syd. Let’s go,’ I muttered, turning away.

  Syd looked down at my upturned face with a strange expression in his eyes: part pity, part understanding. I knew then he’d seen the knife too and was concerned for what would happen to me if this confrontation developed into a brawl. He addressed himself to Billy again. ‘I’ve ’ad enough fightin’ for one day, Boil, but I’ll take you all on if I find you touchin’ Cat again. Understand this: no one, but no one, messes with my Cat and gets away with it.’

  Billy slipped his hand in his pocket for a second, then raised his hands, palms open, as if to say something placatory to his rival, but Syd ignored him, steered me round and marched me through the silent ranks of Billy’s gang. Having just seen him fell the Camden Crusher, no one wanted to chance their arm against him now.

  Once we had reached the safety of Syd’s party of supporters, I felt relieved but also ashamed of myself. I should not have come to the match. I had run straight into trouble and almost come to grief. Syd’s father, a ruddy-faced man with fists like hams, gave me a disapproving stare as he watched his son usher me over to a stool at the ringside.

  ‘Let’s see that ankle, Cat,’ Syd said tenderly, taking off the rough woollen stocking on my right leg. Lord Francis, whom I suspected I had to thank for raising the alarm, hovered behind Syd, looking both embarrassed and anxious. Indeed my ankle was not a pretty sight: you could see the marks made by Billy’s fingers now blooming into red and blue bruises.

  Syd’s frown deepened. ‘I should’ve punched his stupid face in ’ad I known ’e’d done this.’

  ‘It’s nothing, Syd,’ I said quickly, not wanting him to think I was bothered by so slight an injury. ‘As he said, he was just teasing.’

  ‘Teasing!’ exploded Pedro. ‘He had you upside down. That’s torture, not teasing. You shouldn’t play his game, Cat!’

  ‘I didn’t exactly ask to be treated like that!’ I answered, channelling the pain into anger at Pedro’s remark. ‘If you hadn’t all run off so quick, I wouldn’t have been left alone and he wouldn’t’ve dared pick on me!’ I stood up, intending to make a dignified exit, stamping off back home, but collapsed again as a stabbing pain shot up my leg.

  ‘Cat is right,’ said Lord Francis, looking abject. ‘We were most remiss to leave a lady on her own.’

  ‘We were what?’ asked Nick.

  ‘You shouldn’t’ve scarpered,’ I translated, ‘leaving me with that dung-ball Billy Shepherd.’

  ‘So that was Billy ‘Boil’ Shepherd?’ asked Lord Francis eagerly.

  The knowledge that he had just been wrestling with one of London’s most infamous gang leaders seemed to restore his spirits, which had been depressed by Billy’s boot.

  ‘Let me make some amends for our lamentable neglect by paying for a chair to carry you home,’ he said, pulling out a guinea from his well-filled purse.

  Nick and Syd stared at him in amazement.

  ‘Where’d you get that?’ asked Syd. ‘I’ll not ’ave you friends with no thief, Cat.’ He rounded on me, assuming that Lord Francis’s wealth must be ill-gotten.

  ‘Nothing to worry about, Syd,’ said Pedro, ‘it’s his. He’s not what he seems.’

  Syd gave the blackened face of Lord Francis a hard stare. He may not be quick, but given time, Syd can usually see his way through a brick wall. ‘You a gent?’

  Lord Francis glanced at Pedro anxiously. He now knew to fear the gang leaders of Covent Garden. He wasn’t to know that the mountain of muscle in front of him had a much sweeter nature . . . few people did.

  ‘He is,’ said Pedro.

  ‘What d’you mean bringin’ ’im along, Cat?’ Syd said angrily, immediately assuming it was all my fault. ‘Didn’t you stop to think what might ’appen to ’im if ’e was found out?’

  ‘It was my idea,’ said Pedro, but he could not draw Syd’s fire like that. Syd had got it fixed in his head that I must be responsible for the whole affair.

  ‘So why didn’t you stop it?’ he continued, still berating me. ‘You know Pedro’s green . . . ’e don’t know nuffink yet about the streets, but you do, Cat! I thought you were clever!’

  It might have been a good moment to employ one of those moves that Richardson’s heroines use in his novels . . . a good faint or tears might have reminded Syd he was supposed to be feeling sorry for me. But it was beneath my dignity to indulge in such foolishness.

  ‘You’re right, Syd, I should’ve stopped him,’ I said, feeling quite defeated by the day. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to accept Lord Francis’s offer and go home.’ I stood up. Lord Francis offered me his arm and I began to hobble over to the gate.

  My avowal of being in the wrong had taken the heat out of Syd’s anger.

  ‘You can’t walk like that all the way to Oxford Street, you daft kitten. I’ll carry you,’ he said, picking me up as if I weighed no more than a doll. ‘Come on, your lordship, if you must,’ he added grudgingly over his shoulder to Lord Francis. ‘I ain’t got the gold for a chair . . . you’ll ’ave to foot that bill.’

  ACT III

  SCENE 1 . . . A REWARD

  I have to confess that I was in a very bad mood for the rest of that day and did not want to see anyone. I hid in the Sparrow’s Nest with my ankle wrapped in a cold cloth, feeling sorry for myself. Covent Garden, my home, had become a dangerous place for me. Now Billy and his gang bore me a grudge for turning them down, I could no longer take my freedom to roam for granted. What was worse, I had fallen out with Johnny. As I half-expected, I met little sympathy for my injury when he spotted me alighting from the sedan chair. He had gallantly rushed out to check I had enough money to pay for my ride (the Irish chairmen would not think twice about thumping a passenger who turned out to not have the means to pay for the luxury of being carried across London). Leaning on his arm to hobble inside, I told him about the disastrous turn of my outing.

  ‘If you want to run with the hounds, Cat, you shouldn’t be surprised if you get a few nips,’ he said, he
lping me through the stage door.

  That was rich coming from a wanted man skulking in hiding.

  ‘And I suppose that if you want your wit to sparkle brightly, captain,’ I said boldly, ‘you have to take cover under the skirts of Drury Lane to escape the pack baying for your blood?’ I enjoyed the quiet revenge of seeing his face drain of colour as my words hit home.

  The pleasure was short-lived. He tightened his grip on my arm and dragged me round so he could look into my face.

  ‘Who told you?’ he hissed, his eyes glinting with anger as he gave me a shake. I felt suddenly scared: here was a Johnny I had not yet seen, determined and dangerous. It was the first time my mild teacher had so much as laid a finger on me.

  ‘No one. I guessed,’ I explained hurriedly. ‘Don’t worry, no one else knows.’

  He gave me a searching stare and then let go of my arm. He seemed cold and unfamiliar, not the same man who had spent so many hours with me that week.

  ‘They’d better not hear about it from you, Cat, or you’ll be the death of me,’ he hissed. Turning his back, he strode away, heading for the prompt’s office, which he had made his temporary home.

  ‘Johnny! I’m sorry!’ I called softly after him, glancing around to check no one was in earshot. ‘Of course I won’t say anything. You can trust me.’

  He gave a shrug without turning to look at me.

  ‘Can I, Cat?’ he said and banged the door closed behind him.

  So, Reader, you can understand why I had retreated to my nest in a sullen mood. It was now ten o’clock. The theatre was quiet but the streets outside were alive with revellers as the taverns did a roaring Sunday trade. Even from my attic, I could hear voices calling out the name of the Bow Street Butcher. Syd was the local hero and was doubtless being fêted by his gang somewhere nearby, glorying in his triumph. All his boys would be around him. Pedro was probably there, leading the singing, perhaps playing for him, spending the money Lord Francis had given him for taking him along on his adventure. Of everyone, I felt most angry with Pedro. He was like the cuckoo coming to throw the chick from her nest: he’d taken the place that should’ve been mine in Syd’s gang. And it was his stupidity that brought Lord Francis to the match in the first place, causing me to argue with Syd! And as for my ankle . . . well, if I could’ve thought of a way to blame Pedro for that too, I would’ve done.