Cat's Cradle

by Julia Golding

‘Mrs Fletcher!’ I tapped on the back door, hoping she hadn’t gone to bed yet. Mr and Mrs Fletcher appeared in the kitchen: she dressed in her nightrobe and he in his breeches, carrying a candle.

  ‘Good gracious, Cat!’ Mrs Fletcher exclaimed, opening the door to us. ‘What ’ave you done with Syd?’

  ‘There was some trouble at the ball, ma’am,’ said Peter smoothly. ‘Your son was unavoidably detained so I had the pleasure of bringing the ladies home.’

  ‘It was those Irish devils again, I wager.’ Mrs Fletcher beckoned us in, her eyes going to my other companion.

  ‘Indeed so, ma’am. I won’t linger. I have a violin to rescue from distress.’ With an elegant bow, Peter retreated. ‘I’ll tell the watchman on the site where you are, Miss,’ he called over his shoulder to Bridgit.

  ‘Mrs Fletcher . . . er, Joanna, can my friend stay?’ I asked hesitantly. My first day in her home and I was already bringing in waifs and strays. And I’d just turned down her son.

  Mrs Fletcher took in the girl’s ragged condition and pursed her lips.

  ‘And she is?’

  ‘Bridgit O’Riley.’

  Mr Fletcher grunted. I guessed that meant he disapproved.

  Bridgit hovered on the doorstep. ‘No matter. I’ll be leaving then.’

  That seemed to decide Mrs Fletcher. ‘Oh, don’t be so foolish, girl. You’re welcome ’ere. I won’t say the same for all Irish, but you’ll do for tonight.’

  I gave Mrs Fletcher an impulsive hug. ‘Thank you. Are you going to wait up for Syd?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I’ve long since learned that ’e can look after ’imself. Both of you, go on up. Some of us ’ave to work in the morning.’ She shooed us up the stairs.

  Placing my candle on the bedside table in the box room, I gestured Bridgit to the washstand. ‘You might like to get some of that punch off before you sleep.’

  She nodded, still looking dazed by her good fortune to be in a proper bedroom for the night. She stroked the counterpane reverently.

  ‘I’m afraid none of my things will fit you. I’ll just run and borrow a robe from Joanna.’

  When I got back, I found Bridgit had cleaned the sticky residue off her skin and brushed the worst of it out of her long black hair.

  ‘I must smell like a drunkard,’ she muttered.

  ‘You smell like the contents of an orange-seller’s basket. Not so bad.’ I handed her the old nightgown and set about changing for bed.

  ‘You’re very kind.’ Bridgit tugged the robe over her head, her resemblance to a dark-haired angel all the stronger now thanks to her garb and the hair tumbling around her shoulders.

  ‘I just know what it feels like to be an outsider.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ she murmured, folding back the sheets and running the warming pan over them for us both.

  I took the pan from her and set it on the hearth to cool down safely. ‘You can’t get much further outside than a foundling.’ I was reminded once again of my strange day. ‘You’re lucky: you’ve got brothers.’

  ‘Lucky, am I?’

  ‘Oh, yes. You have the luck of the Irish. Better seven problem brothers than not a soul on your side.’

  She yawned and snuggled down under the blankets. ‘Maybe. But you haven’t met them yet.’

  SCENE 3 – IRISH ASSURANCE

  My chance to make my acquaintance with Bridgit’s brothers came sooner than expected. It started with a thundering on the doors at three in the morning.

  ‘Bridgit, get down here now!’

  I jumped out of bed and ran to the window. In the street stood seven men, none of whom appeared to be in a good humour. It was still too dark to see them well, but my imagination supplied the blackened eyes and bruised ribs. Behind me, Bridgit had tumbled out of the blankets and was rapidly dressing. There was a whistle further up the street and Syd and the boys appeared at the corner.

  ‘Oh, no!’ I groaned.

  Mr Fletcher opened the window next to us and shouted, ‘Get away from ’ere, you Irish devils. She’ll come ’ome in the mornin’ like decent folk do.’

  ‘What have you done with my sister?’ roared the biggest of the bunch.

  Mrs Fletcher decided to add her tuppenny worth. ‘She’s sleepin’, so scat!’ There was a splash as she upended the contents of a basin of water over them – at least I hope it was water.

  Bridgit’s brothers did not appreciate being dismissed like a pack of stray dogs. Enraged by their dousing, the thumping on the door became more violent. Syd and his gang were running now, rushing to the defence of their territory.

  And it had seemed such a good idea to offer Bridgit shelter.

  My new friend was having similar misgivings. ‘I’d better go. Thank you for everything, Cat.’ She started out of the door but I caught the back of her skirt.

  ‘Wait a moment. Oh, this is all my fault! Look, I’ll explain to your brothers and Syd that I invited you in.’ I tugged an old round over my nightdress.

  As we rushed to the shop door, we could see silhouettes of people grappling with each other outside and hear the grunts of yet another fight. You would have thought they’d had their fill of that tonight. I threw the door open and Bridgit dashed into the fray.

  ‘Stop! Corny, Ody, Christy, you stop it this minute, you hear me!’

  The O’Rileys were outnumbered, backed up against the wall by the Butcher’s Boys. Syd had the big one caught in a headlock.

  ‘Syd, let him go now,’ I called out. ‘They’re not attacking the shop – they just came for their sister.’

  Syd released his captive and pushed him towards his brothers. His blood was up: his normally friendly face looked positively menacing as he wiped away the sweat of battle. ‘What’s she doin’ ’ere?’

  Poor Bridgit stood wringing her hands, separated from her brothers by the ranks of the Butcher’s Boys. She was staring at Syd, clearly terrified of him. I suppose he did look a mite formidable in his fighting mood; I tend to forget how he would appear to a stranger.

  I moved between them. ‘She’s taking refuge with me after a bunch of buffle-headed trouble-makers ruined her evening,’ I replied tartly. ‘Stop scaring the girl, Syd.’

  Syd took a step back and relaxed his fists, taking a deep breath to regain control over his racing pulse. He then smiled at Bridgit with just a touch too much teeth to be completely reassuring. ‘Don’t worry, darlin’, I wouldn’t dare be buffle’eaded round Cat. I’m terrified of ’er, I am.’

  Bridgit gave him a wondering look, perplexed as to how the towering giant could claim to be afraid of a red-haired girl of so few inches.

  ‘But she seems so sweet to me,’ she said wonderingly, not quite sure if he was joking, but concluding he probably was.

  ‘No, no, you’ve got ’er all wrong,’ Syd continued, enjoying his make-believe. He put his fists on his hips, rocking on the balls of his feet, still ready to fight if called on. ‘Cat’s a real tiger – keeps us boys in line, she does.’

  The Butcher’s Boys echoed this sentiment with a chorus of agreement mixed with laughter. I realized that Syd was trying to turn this dangerous confrontation into a bit of harmless pantomime. I knew my role.

  ‘That’s right, they quiver in their boots when they see me coming,’ I said brusquely, taking Bridgit’s arm, ‘so you’ve no need to worry about them. Let’s call it a night, boys, and all go get some sleep.’

  But the O’Riley brothers were having none of it.

  ‘Bridgit, you come here now or feel the back of my hand!’ threatened the big one.

  Mr Fletcher appeared on the doorstep, a cleaver in his fist. ‘Miss O’Riley is a guest in my ’ouse,’ he growled. ‘She only leaves if she wants to.’

  But Bridgit twirled round, pulling her arm free with evident regret. ‘If it please you, sir, I’ll be going now. Thanks for letting me rest awhile. I’m most obliged to you. I’m coming, Corny.’

  ‘You don’t need to go, darlin’ – not if you don’t want to,’ added Syd. ‘We
can ’andle those brothers of yours.’

  Bridgit shook her head regretfully. ‘That’s very kind of you to offer, but no.’ Touching me briefly on my arm, she stepped forward. Syd fell back to let her pass, sparing a bemused but appreciative look for the first non-punching O’Riley he’d met. The big brother, Corny, hooked her roughly by the elbow and dragged her off in the middle of a press of brothers. I almost called her back; I didn’t trust the O’Rileys to be kind to their little sister. They seemed to regard her staying under a Londoner’s roof as a kind of betrayal.

  ‘’Ow did she invite ’erself in?’ asked Syd, yawning as the events of the night took their toll.

  ‘I invited her, Syd, after finding her alone in the middle of a punch-up!’

  ‘Easy now, Kitten – retract those claws. I wasn’t criticizing you or ’er. I think you’ve done ’er no favours, though. The O’Rileys ’ave set themselves against everyone in the market. They won’t let ’er ’ave no friends ’ere.’

  It was as I feared. I’d dropped her into a quagmire so I’d just have to make sure she got out.

  The next day, Syd and his dad were busy out back with a fresh delivery of livestock. Making my excuses to Mrs Fletcher, I set off to check on the fate of my new friend. I didn’t tell the Fletchers exactly where I was going – too much information would not be good for Syd’s peace of mind – but it was not unnatural of me to wish to see my old home, was it? I mean, Reader, what was more likely than for Cat Royal to stroll around the corner and inspect progress on the new Drury Lane? It was not as if I went looking for trouble. Honest.

  My pace faltered as I turned into Russell Street. The theatre had gone. The soaring walls, columns and arched windows all flattened into a featureless quarry. Men scurried over the site with barrows of rubble. New foundations were being dug, enveloping the outline of the old building like a whale swallowing a fish whole. I couldn’t feel excited about the signs that the theatre was indeed rising from the dust once again; all I could feel was devastation.

  I knew it would be bad – just not this bad.

  The sight of a dark-haired labourer carrying a hod of bricks jolted me from my melancholy thoughts. I hadn’t come here to wallow in my sense of loss. I scanned the site: here and there among the other Irishmen I spotted the O’Rileys. No sign of Bridgit. But then there wouldn’t be – not among the men. I wondered if the builders employed any females. From a quick look round, it seemed not. It was then I remembered that she said they lived in one of the temporary huts built to accommodate the workers. They were in plain sight, over where the carpentry store used to be. Better quality than I expected, they made decent enough homes – many steps above the doorways where I had once slept.

  Trying not to attract the attention of any of the O’Riley brothers, I skirted the site and dodged into the alley between the huts. I could see a few other women going about their chores and some grubby infants playing with rough-cut blocks – one toy there was no shortage of on a building site – but no Bridgit.

  ‘What you be doing here, miss?’ a hard-eyed woman challenged me – she had her arms up to the elbows in a tub of soapy water.

  ‘Good morning, ma’am.’ The woman seemed taken aback by my polite greeting. ‘I’m looking for Bridgit O’Riley. Where does she live?’

  ‘What you want with her?’

  I smiled. ‘Just wanted to call on her. We met last night.’

  The woman wiped her brow, leaving a trail of suds. ‘Not seen her yet this morning. Two doors down on my side.’ With a curt nod, she returned to scrubbing her man’s shirts.

  A little further on, I arrived outside a raw plank door with a piece of string for a latch. I knocked.

  ‘Bridgit?’

  I could hear scurrying around inside as if someone was trying frantically to hide something – or themselves.

  ‘It’s me. Cat. I’ve come to see if you’re all right.’

  The door opened a crack and her amazing violet eyes peeked out at me.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she whispered. Her gaze darted uneasily down the alley. ‘You’d better come in.’

  She pulled the ill-fitting door open and ushered me inside. The odour in the room was a little ripe to say the least, smelling of spirits and too many bodies packed together. I’d heard doctors claim that diseases travelled in bad air – that would make this hut a positive breeding ground for all manner of fevers. For Bridgit’s sake, I tried not to show my distaste.

  ‘Can I get you some refreshment?’ she asked politely. Her manners were far better than one would expect from her surroundings. At a glance, it was clear that she kept the hut neat despite the obstacle of all those brothers. A piece with her manners, I read this as a gesture of defiance against her wretched lot.

  ‘Can I invite you out with me?’ I countered. ‘I know a very good cook shop where we can grab a second breakfast.’ I noted the few contents of the room. ‘Or a first. My treat.’

  In the gloom, she shook her head. ‘I’m not supposed to go out. My brothers won’t like it.’

  ‘Why? What do they think will happen?’

  She twisted her hands in the threadbare fabric of her day-dress. ‘Some of the women have had trouble. It’s not a very pleasant area, you know, for us Irish.’

  ‘Believe me, I know. But with me, you’ll be fine. And besides, it’s only nine in the morning. The local boys won’t be out looking for trouble – they’ll be working.’

  ‘I . . . I’m not sure, Cat . . .’ Her voice died as she heard footsteps pounding down the alley. ‘Oh Jesus and Mary, it’s them!’

  I didn’t need to ask who she meant. The door crashed open and Corny O’Riley shouldered his way into the room, followed by two of his brothers.

  ‘Get out!’ he shouted, waving his arm at me.

  Bravely, Bridgit threw herself between us. ‘Don’t you go shouting at my friend, Corny! She meant no harm being here.’

  Ire redirected to his sister, Corny grabbed her wrist and pulled her away from me. ‘You don’t have no friends here, remember! They’re all against us – trying to stop a man doing an honest day’s work. They’d let us starve if they could.’ He shook her roughly.

  ‘Now just a minute!’ I exclaimed, outraged by his rough treatment. ‘You take your hands off her!’

  He gave me a scornful look. ‘Oh yes? And you’ll make me, I suppose, pipsqueak?’

  One of the other brothers moved out of the doorway, letting light fall into the room and on to Bridgit’s face. She had a bruised cheek that hadn’t been there the night before. That was it.

  ‘Oh yes, I’ll make you, you big bully.’ I grabbed a broom from the corner. He sneered, expecting me to take a swipe at him with the brush, but I knew better than that. I jabbed him in the stomach with the pole, producing a satisfying ‘oof ’. He bent double to clutch himself, freeing Bridgit. His two brothers were too busy laughing to think of retaliating.

  Breathing heavily, I stood with the broom held out in front of me. ‘I came here this morning to invite your sister out. She will be in no danger in my company and I certainly have no intention of seeing her starve, so you’ll just get out of my way or I’ll call the foreman. Get your shawl, Bridgit.’

  Corny was staring at me as if he’d never seen a girl stand up to him before. Perhaps he hadn’t. But neither had he met a girl who’d sailed on a naval ship, escaped a slave master and survived an ambush in the middle of a war. His fists curled.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ I growled.

  ‘Let Bridgit go, Corny,’ intervened one of the boys behind me. ‘That’s Syd Fletcher’s girl you’re talking to. He’d run us out of here as fast as a horse on Derby day if we touch her.’

  Taking that as permission, Bridgit grabbed her shawl and tugged me away with her. Rather surprised I had got off unscathed after my explosion of temper, I stumbled after her.

  ‘Widow King’s – that’s the place,’ I panted, feeling rather elated by my triumph.

  ‘What?’ Bridgit was still taking
worried looks over her shoulder.

  ‘Breakfast. Best pastries in London.’

  My old friend Caleb Braithwaite, formerly Drury Lane doorman, now assistant to Mrs King, found us a prime spot near the fireplace in the little dining room attached to the kitchen. He refused any charge for the mound of mouth-watering buns.

  ‘I’ll tell her they were spoiled,’ he said. ‘Didn’t you see me drop ’em when I took ’em off the stove? She won’t mind a bit – not for you.’

  ‘Thanks, Caleb. You’re a star.’

  ‘The only payment I expect is a nice long natter when you’ve a moment.’ He returned to his post in the kitchen watching the next batch in the oven.

  Bridgit looked a trifle bemused by this kindness. She must have had a poor time of it in London so far if she’d not seen us do each other favours.

  ‘So, Bridgit, tell me about yourself,’ I said, pushing the plate of buns towards her. ‘Are you liking it here?’

  ‘Hate it.’ She took a bun but didn’t bite. ‘My brothers get angrier each day, the place reeks to high heaven, not a green field in sight, and I’ve no one to talk to.’

  ‘Other than that, you’re having a swell time. Where’ve you come from?’

  ‘Near Dublin.’ She picked out a raisin and ate it thoughtfully. ‘We were rack rented off our farm – lost the tached cabin, the cow, the bit of land, all to keep the absentee landlord from London in fine style. Mam and Dad been dead these three year so the boys had to look for work.’

  ‘And you had to come with them.’

  She nodded. ‘There was nothing else for me to do. I wanted to get a position here in London but Corny won’t hear of it. Says he’d prefer me to work for the devil than a Londoner.’

  ‘Plenty of devils here. But there are good people too.’

  She shrugged. ‘Good to you, but not to us Irish.’ She brushed some crumbs off the table as if dismissing an unpleasant subject. ‘So now, tell me about yourself, Cat.’

  I chatted away, sketching out the details of my recent travels while she ate her share of the buns. I did wonder if she believed me as even to my own ears it sounded an extraordinary adventure for a girl from Covent Garden. Feeling the need to explain my background, I even told her about my plans to travel to Scotland in search of my family. Her eyes glinted with interest.