‘Yes, positive. I know Billy Shepherd better than most, possibly better than anyone. I know what he’s doing.’
‘Where are you going, Cat?’ asked Lizzie. I had my hand on the doorknob.
I couldn’t understand why they were all staring at me. Didn’t they realize that we had a job to do? ‘Well, I for one can’t just sit here. We’ve got to chase the men and tell them they’re going the wrong way. And some of us have to find the right ship. Come on.’
Lizzie was the first to get over her surprise and place her confidence in my instincts. She got up. ‘You’re right. Mama, you and I must go after Mr Sharp. Where should we bring them?’
‘Try Billingsgate – that’s where I’m starting.’
‘That you most certainly are not!’ protested Miss Miller. ‘We can’t let you wander around the docks at this time of night on your own.’
‘Then we’d better not let her go on her own, sister,’ said Miss Fortitude resolutely, buttoning up her gloves.
‘I’ll send for a cab,’ said Miss Prudence, disappearing out of the door.
‘And someone had better fetch Syd. Where was his match, Lizzie?’
‘In a tavern on Fleet Street.’
We looked at each other. A woman going in a place like that on her own would have to have a lot of guts, particularly if she was about to stop a match in its tracks.
‘I’ll go,’ volunteered Milly, picking up her umbrella. ‘Can you lend me a footman or two?’
The duchess nodded. ‘Of course. Joseph and one of the others will accompany you. No, hang that! There must be ten of those lazy doorstops around the place – take them all. It’s about time they earned their keep. We’ll rendezvous in Billingsgate.’
Mrs Jones, the farmer’s wife to whom I owed my shoes, offered to go in pursuit of her husband. That settled, we parted in the lobby as the hackney cabs and carriages drew up.
‘Cat, good luck!’ called Milly as she waved me off in the cab. Lizzie was too late to hush her. Well, if anyone heard, I could do nothing about it. I had no time to worry about my own safety. Our efforts would count for nothing if we could not find Pedro’s ship before it sailed on the tide. Once he left British waters, no magistrate’s writ would save him.
I could tell we were arriving in Billingsgate by the smell. The market lay quiet this time of night – the fishwives would only return to gut the catch and screech at each other when the boats came in early in the morning. The reek of fish forced itself into our lungs. Miss Fortitude put her handkerchief to her nose; the rest of us sat stoically, trying not to take deep breaths.
The cab could go no further. The jarvey pulled the horse to a standstill. The wharves were dark. Stacks of boxes stood on the quayside, creating a confusing labyrinth of passageways. I wondered how I was going to find the Billingsgate gang in all of this.
‘What are you going to do, Sister Catherine?’ asked Miss Miller, for the first time looking to me for leadership. She must have been feeling very out of her depth to relinquish command; to tell the truth, I felt pretty much in over my head too.
‘There must be someone around – a night watchman at least,’ I said with more confidence than I felt. I knew from watching Mr Kemble that even when you realized you were appearing in a play destined to be a flop, you had to soldier on as if it were the greatest show on earth in order to bring the rest of the cast with you. ‘We should get out and look. Tell the jarvey to wait here for us – we might need to make a fast retreat if we run into trouble.’
Standing on the cold pavement while Miss Miller passed on this instruction I looked about, trying to find some clue to help me. The crates all bore ice toppings an inch deep. The passageways were under drifts of untouched snow. All except one. The snow had been beaten flat by the passage of boots – some people had passed this way recently. That was enough for me.
‘Follow me,’ I told my companions.
With only the swish of our skirts to give away our presence, we trod lightly down the path between the stacks of crates. The trail led us on to the quayside. A rim of ice like broken glass had formed on the water’s edge. The Thames spread out before us, inky black except where the surface reflected the glitter of lights from the many vessels at anchor. Somewhere in the distance, laughter and music floated out of the open door of a tavern. From a nearby ship, a piper played a sad, strange melody, accompanied by the soft heartbeat of a drum. At the far end of the quay, a brazier burned, the shadow of a man flickered beside it.
‘That might be the watchman,’ I said without too much hope. I didn’t like this place – it should be full of people and life, not dark and creepy as it was now.
‘We’re with thee, Cat,’ said Miss Prudence.
‘And the Lord is with us,’ added Miss Miller.
With this encouragement, I set off towards the man warming his hands by the brazier.
When we were within earshot, I called out, ‘Excuse me, sir, can you spare me a moment?’
He turned slowly, tipping his hat on to the back of his head, and grinned.
‘Course I can, Cat. I’ve been waitin’ for you.’
Billy Shepherd – of course.
‘Who’s this young man, Sister Catherine?’ asked Miss Miller. ‘Is he a friend of thine?’
I was momentarily lost for words. My mind was in a whirl as I tried to work out what his presence here meant.
‘Well, lady,’ said Shepherd in an unusually polite tone for him, ‘you could say that. Cat and I go back a long way. We know each other well. She knew what I’d done, and I knew what she’d do. No way would she tumble for the boy trick twice. And it’s worked out far better than even I ’oped with ’er turnin’ up before the bone’ead boxer and ’is ’eavy mob.’
‘Boy trick? What hast thou done?’ Miss Miller was understandably confused. ‘Art thou one of the Billingsgate boys we are looking for?’
Time to disabuse my companions. ‘No, Miss Miller, he’s not. He’s Billy Shepherd, Pedro’s gaoler,’ I explained, glaring at him.
‘Aw, Cat, I wouldn’t put it like that. I provided Blackie with temporary accommodation of the ’ighest standard for a small remuneration.’ He dug into the brazier with a shovel and poured something out on to his gloved hand. ‘Chestnut anyone?’
‘You know where you can shove that chestnut, Boil,’ I hissed, feeling a familiar surge of anger. He was loving this – every minute of my bewilderment.
‘Sister Catherine!’ exclaimed Miss Miller.
‘Don’t fret, lady,’ laughed Shepherd. ‘I’m used to her tongue. She only says these things ’cos she likes me so much.’
I ignored them both. ‘Just tell me where Pedro is.’
‘No.’ He cracked the chestnut shell in his fist and popped the sweet white nut into his mouth, watching me all the while.
‘Tell me!’ I yelled at him, stamping my foot. Every minute he wasted could mean that Pedro’s ship had time to set sail. ‘Tell me or I’ll –’
‘Or you’ll do what, Cat?’ grinned Billy. ‘Sure you don’t want a nut? They’re very good. Nicked them meself on me way ’ere – just for old times’ sake, to keep me ’and in.’
I couldn’t think what I’d do, except perhaps self-destruct in an explosion of pure temper. Fortunately, my companions were not so clueless.
‘Or she’ll pray for you,’ said Miss Miller, stepping in front of me. ‘Come on, sisters, let us lay our hands on our errant brother and bring him to the Lord.’ The three Miss Millers swooped on Billy before he had time to react and hooked him with their tiny fists.
‘Oi! Get off!’ protested Billy. It wasn’t his style to lower himself to beat off three elderly ladies. Besides, the Miss Millers’ grip was surprisingly tenacious after all those years of needle-work and letter-writing.
‘Oh, Father, lookest Thou on this miserable sinner, William Shepherd. Change his heart, Oh Lord. Make him obedient to Your Will,’ intoned Miss Miller.
‘Amen,’ replied her sisters.
‘Cleanse him
with hyssop so that he may repent and lead a new life to Thy Glory,’ trilled Miss Prudence.
‘Amen,’ went the response.
‘Cat, call ’em off,’ said Billy. He looked worried. Perhaps the Miss Millers had tapped into a hitherto unsuspected strain of religious belief in Shepherd? The sight gave me great pleasure.
I gave him an angelic smile and closed my eyes, placing my hand on his sleeve. ‘Though his soul is now as ugly as his outer person, create in him a new heart so that he may lead us in the right way,’ I prayed.
‘Nah, Cat, not you. You’re not allowed to get religion!’ he protested, trying to prise my fingers from his jacket.
‘Yea, even though he is but a worm in Thy sight, Thou carest for the unrighteous as much as the righteous,’ said Miss Fortitude, getting into the swing of our impromptu prayer meeting.
But my kind friends were not to know that Shepherd had a temper to match mine or perhaps they would not have drawn so close to him. It now boiled over.
‘Get off me, you old witches!’ he shouted, shaking himself free.
‘Oh Lord . . .!’ began Miss Miller, about to take hold again but I saw it just in time. Billy flicked his wrist. A knife appeared in his hand. I pulled Miss Miller back by the skirt. His swipe missed us both.
‘He tried to knife Patience!’ exclaimed Miss Fortitude in a shocked voice.
‘Of course he did,’ I said bitterly. ‘He’s Billy Shepherd, not the Good Shepherd. Look, Billy, leave my friends alone. You’ve got no quarrel with them.’
Shepherd smoothed down his rumpled jacket, annoyed that he had lost his composure in front of us. ‘You’re right, Cat. When I ’eard from Old Jean they’d taken you in, I knew they must be daft cows. Now I’ve seen it for meself.’
‘You knew where I was?’
‘Course, Moggy. Someone ’as to keep an eye on you. You’re too dangerous to let out of sight for long.’
The reach of his influence unnerved me. He was a formidable person to have as an enemy.
‘I could say the same about you,’ I conceded.
‘And you’d be right. Sounds to me as if we’re made for each other.’ He gave me a strange smile.
‘Made to torment each other, you mean.’
He just shrugged at that.
Miss Miller had now recovered from almost being skewered by one of the London underworld’s most infamous characters. ‘Sister Catherine, can this man help us or not? We have no time to waste,’ she asked sharply, casting a less than charitable look at her assailant.
I gazed straight at him, wondering the same thing. ‘Why were you waiting for me, Billy?
He took another chestnut. ‘That’s better, Cat – back to business. You tell me why I’m here.’
‘I can think of many reasons.’
‘Go on.’
‘To laugh at me as I lose my friend thanks to you?’ He said nothing. ‘Or perhaps you’ve a deal with Hawkins now and you plan to hand me over?’ He spat a piece of shell into the brazier. ‘Or maybe, now you’ve delivered your cargo, you’re free to help me without ruining your reputation with the canting crew?’
He smiled. ‘Now what makes you think I’d do that for you?’
He was right: why would he? ‘Selfless’ and ‘Billy Shepherd’ were three words that would never be used in the same sentence.
‘There has to be something in it for you. You want something from . . . from me?’
‘Very good, Cat. Now what would that be, do you think?’
He’d once wanted a diamond from me – but he knew I had no money now. I couldn’t think of anything I had that he could possibly want.
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted.
This answer pleased him immensely. ‘I’m glad I’m not so predictable that even your mind-readin’ powers are stumped. I’ll tell you: I want you to be in me debt. I want you to leave ’ere tonight knowin’ that you owe me somethink. Between you and me, Cat, there’ll be an invisible chain which I can tug any time I want to call in my favour. ’Ow does that sound to you?’
It sounded terrifying. But did that matter? He was our only way to Pedro – so what if I had to bargain with the devil?
‘All right – so long as –’
‘No conditions, Moggy,’ he interrupted.
How I hated his rotten grin! He had me – and he knew it.
‘Sister Catherine, don’t give your word. It’s not wise,’ whispered Miss Prudence.
‘I know it’s not – that’s why he’s doing it.’ I crossed my fingers behind my back. ‘All right, we have an agreement. Now, tell me where Pedro is.’
Shepherd’s smile grew so broad, it looked as though he would crack his pimply face in two.
‘I’ll do better than that – I’ll take you there meself.’ He nodded down at the steps where a little vessel was tied up. ‘You don’t ’alf give value for money, Cat. Watchin’ you work is an eddycation on its own. I wouldn’t miss seein’ you try and stop the captain and forty tars settin’ sail when they want. Get in, ladies. We’re bound for the Phoenix.’
I shook my head. ‘Not all of us. Miss Fortitude and Miss Prudence, stay here and let the others know where we are. Your sister and I will do our best to delay the ship.’
‘Aw, Cat, don’t you think you’re up to the job on your own?’ he mocked.
Billy offered his hand to help Miss Miller into the boat, but I was pleased to see her refuse it with a sniff of disgust as she got in unaided. With her sisters watching us nervously from the quayside, we set off on to the river.
SCENE 2 – AM I NOT A MAN AND A BROTHER?
Billy rowed us out to the Phoenix, whistling tunelessly between his teeth. The ship lay just downstream of London Bridge in the middle of the river. From the lights and activity on deck it looked suspiciously as if the captain was preparing to weigh anchor.
‘Hurry, Billy,’ I urged.
‘Don’t fret, Cat: they won’t go just yet.’
His confidence was no comfort. As I watched the snowflakes settle and melt on his straining back, I wondered what other surprises he had in store for me. He had never said that he did not have another deal with Hawkins, and I would not put it past him to double-cross me.
Miss Miller sat at the other end of the boat, her head bowed. She only raised it as we neared the ship.
‘Let me go first, Sister Catherine,’ she said. ‘The captain might listen to me if he is a godly man.’
Billy gave a snort of laughter and spat over the side. ‘Captain Janssen, a godly man? Pah! You know wot, lady, you’re almost as funny as Moggy ’ere.’
That did not sound very encouraging.
Billy put two fingers in his mouth and let out a sharp whistle. ‘Ahoy there, Phoenix! Three to come aboard.’
A sailor peered over the side, holding out a lantern. Seeing there were ladies involved, he let down the chair – a piece of tackle a bit like a wooden swing – to hoist Miss Miller up. I did not wait for it to be lowered back down. I followed Billy up the rope ladder.
Arriving on deck, I saw Miss Miller in earnest conversation with a large man with white-blond hair, a hooked nose and a thin mouth – Captain Janssen. Billy lolled against the rail and waved me forward.
‘At ’im, Cat! I won’t get in the way if I watch from ’ere, will I?’
I gave him a sarcastic smile and hurried to Miss Miller’s side. Twenty or so sailors had stopped work to watch the altercation.
‘Thou art holding the boy against his will,’ she was arguing. ‘In the name of humanity, thou must let him free.’
‘I am a reasonable man, lady,’ rumbled the captain in a deep voice with a Scandinavian accent. ‘But my passenger claims the boy is his servant. It is no business of mine to interfere.’
‘But it is!’ Miss Miller may have been almost a foot shorter in stature than the captain, but she made up for it in the grandeur of her manner. ‘It is thy duty as a Christian to defend the weak.’
He seemed to find the idea highly amusing. ‘Hey, you hear
that, bosun – me, the defender of the weak!’
‘Aye, captain, the weak don’t last long on your ship. You give ’em a helping hand over the side if they’re on the way out,’ growled the bosun as he sucked on the stem of his pipe.
I shivered at these words. Of course Hawkins’ preferred vessel would be owned by a slaver of the very worst sort – I should’ve anticipated that. We were not going to get anywhere by appealing to his better nature – he didn’t have one.
‘I have no time to talk religion with you, lady,’ said Captain Janssen, turning away. ‘I have a ship to take out on the tide and unless you want to come with me to Jamaica, I suggest you return to shore.’
Miss Miller hooked his arm with the end of her umbrella. ‘I haven’t finished with thee yet, my man,’ she scolded. ‘Don’t they teach manners where thou comest from? Dost thou not know that it’s rude to turn thy back to a lady?’
I guessed that Miss Miller also knew it was fruitless to try and win him over and had switched to doing her best to distract and delay him. If we could just make enough fuss to stop the ship sailing until Mr Sharp arrived, we might stand a chance of saving Pedro. I would use the time she had bought us to find my friend and see if I could set him free.
‘Bosun, clear the deck of strangers,’ Janssen growled.
‘Not before I’ve taught thee how to behave as becomes a Christian gentleman,’ cried Miss Miller in a shrill voice.
Entertained by Miss Miller’s loud sermon to their captain as to the shortcomings in his upbringing, the crew did not try to stop me as I slipped away to search the ship. My hunt did not last long as no attempt had been made to hide Pedro. He was chained to the main mast, surrounded by a ring of gentlemen, chief among them Kingston Hawkins. My friend looked desperate, sitting with his arms around his legs, clearly freezing in the snowy weather.
‘Your health, gentlemen,’ Hawkins said, raising a glass to his companions. ‘To my boy’s happy homecoming.’
‘You said Kemble would never get away with stealing him from you and you were right!’ said an elderly man I recognized as Dr Juniper from the billiard room. ‘You’ll make an example of him when you get back, I suppose? This boy’s a rotten apple – leave him in the barrel and the whole place will rot.’