‘That’s weeks off yet. It seems to me that the most immediate problem is saving you from the runners.’ Frank whisked the cap off my head, letting my hair tumble out. ‘Sadly, I think we’ll have to sacrifice this to the cause.’
‘Yes, Tom Cats don’t sport ringlets,’ agreed Charlie.
‘Shall you be the barber or shall I?’
‘I’ll do it,’ said Charlie, taking out a pair of scissors from his desk drawer. ‘She doesn’t know me so well yet and is not likely to curse me so loudly when she sees what I’ve done.’
‘You’re not . . .’ I stammered.
‘We are.’ Frank suddenly looked serious. ‘Unless you have a better idea?’ I thought for a moment then shook my head. ‘Please, Cat, for my sake – and for Lizzie. I don’t want to visit you next at Newgate. I don’t make a very good prison visitor – I’m terrible at small talk.’
I bit my lip. What could I do, Reader? On the one hand, I could take my chances on the streets and probably end up in a cell by the evening. On the other, I could try this madcap idea which might, just might, succeed. What did I have to lose?
‘All right,’ I sighed. ‘You can cut it off.’
‘To be safe, I think we’d better cut it pretty hard,’ said Frank, taking a strand in his fingers. ‘You see, you don’t look much like a boy, Cat, even with a cap on. What’s your brother like, Charlie?’
‘Big – makings of a prizefighter.’
‘Hmm. Well, the measles have taken it out of him, that’s all I can say. Your new brother Tom will be more in the angelic chorister mould.’
I closed my eyes and tried not to think about how long it would take to grow back as the hair dropped into my lap. When Charlie finally told me to look in the mirror, I saw a tousle-haired waif staring back. Cat Royal seemed to have vanished. There wasn’t much of me at the best of times – but without my curls I was almost invisible – reduced to a pair of large, tear-filled green eyes in a pale, freckled face.
The boys looked at each other nervously. ‘What do you think?’ Charlie asked, turning to Frank.
‘Not sure. Still too damned pretty.’ They were both watching me, worried how I was going to react.
Now my hair was gone, it was too late to back out. I mentally shook myself. There I was, wallowing in self-pity again when they were trying their best to help me. I had to make more of an effort.
‘Look!’ I said, throwing off the blanket and displaying my scraped elbows and hands. ‘My knees are the same. Is that more boyish for you?’ I turned back to the mirror, ruffled my hair so that it stuck up at the front and stuck out my tongue at the reflection. ‘Thomas Hengrave, pleased to meet you.’
Charlie laughed, his relief palpable. He strode over and shook my hand. ‘Pleased to meet you too, little brother. Now, let’s get you some decent clothes and set this charade rolling.’
‘So, you have just recovered from the measles, Hengrave, is that so?’ said Dr Vincent, the headmaster, looking up from a letter reputing to be from Lady Hengrave. Frank had turned out to be a fair hand at forgery – something Joe ‘The Card’ had taught him over the Easter holidays.
‘Yes, sir,’ I said, standing with my hands clasped behind my back, my eyes on the wall behind him. I could sense Charlie shifting nervously by the door, ready to make a bolt for it if the ruse failed.
‘And your mother wants you to stay with your brother?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Hmm. Well, I must say you do look a bit sickly. I understood from Lord Hengrave that you were a strong boy with a taste for sports.’
‘He is, sir,’ said Charlie quickly. ‘He’s stronger than he looks.’
‘We’ll see, we’ll see. It’s most irregular not to have a boy in the College Dormitory in his first year. I always think it’s better for all concerned that the house dame keeps an eye on the young ones.’
‘I’ll keep an eye on him, sir,’ said Charlie.
‘That’s what I’m afraid of, Hengrave. You share a set with Avon, don’t you?’
‘Yes, sir. Avon’s offered to be my brother’s substance.’ (Charlie had explained to me that every new boy, or ‘shadow’, had to have a ‘substance’, or older boy, to sponsor him.)
‘Not ideal, not ideal at all. You both have a talent for mischief. I wouldn’t want your younger brother to come under bad influences in his first term.’
‘We promise to behave, sir.’
‘I’ll be watching you very closely to see that you do. Hurry along then. Show your brother where he’s to go. You’ve missed enough lessons this morning as it is.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Charlie towed me outside to where an anxious Frank was waiting.
‘Well?’ he asked.
‘He bought it. Tom Cat’s in. We’re to take him to his form immediately.’
Frank seized my other elbow and they marched me briskly across the quad. The bells of Westminster Abbey began to strike the hour – eleven o’clock. In the space of five hours I had become a boy, been dressed in Frank’s old clothes, smuggled out, arrived back aboard a carriage loaned from the Avon stables and now enrolled in the Lower Form as the Honorable Thomas Hengrave. And all because I had told some old farts to go to hell.
‘You’re doing well,’ whispered Charlie in my ear. ‘Just remember not to twiddle your hair.’
‘Sorry.’
‘And don’t cross your ankles,’ added Frank.
‘Sorry.’ Was there anything else I had to remember?
‘How’s your Latin?’ asked Charlie.
‘Non-existent.’
‘Well, you might find the next class a bit tough then. Mama will dismiss the tutor when she hears how poorly he’s prepared you for school.’
‘I want to go home,’ I moaned as they pulled me through a high arched doorway.
‘No you don’t. Even Latin is better than a lock-up,’ said Frank cheerfully.
‘Just don’t do anything to earn the cane, will you, Cat? I’m not sure our plot would survive that,’ Charlie said with a frown.
‘Sit quiet, try hard, and you’ve nothing to fear. We’ll see you after lessons,’ Frank concluded. ‘Oh, and give this to the usher – it’s his fee.’ He pressed a guinea into my hand and pushed me through a door.
It opened on to a vaulted room full of boys sitting in rows, heads bent over slates. They looked up on our entrance. I gulped.
‘Yes?’ enquired the master, a young, tired-looking man with straw-coloured hair, dressed in a long black gown.
‘Mr Castleton, my brother Thomas has arrived at last,’ said Charlie, pushing me forward.
‘The younger Hengrave? Ah yes, we’ve been expecting you since September. Quite recovered now from your indisposition?’ I nodded and handed him the guinea as prompted by Frank. ‘Good, good. You can sit next to Ingels at the front here until we know where to put you in the class ranking.’ He pointed to a space beside a fat boy with dull eyes. I sat down, crossed my ankles and quickly uncrossed them again. Charlie and Frank gave me a last look and ducked out of the room. ‘We’re translating a passage from Horace as you can see, Hengrave.’
I looked up. On the blackboard was a verse – I could tell that from the arrangement – but I could not read a single word.
‘Carry on, Richmond.’
A small boy with dark hair and olive skin began to drone on, turning this impenetrable stuff into something resembling English. He stumbled over a word.
‘Come on, Richmond, you should know that one. Amor – we did the declension last week. Surely even you remember that?’
‘Er . . . hope?’ guessed the boy vaguely.
‘Ingels?’
My neighbour shuffled. ‘Cheese?’ he tried. A ripple of laughter passed across the room. I couldn’t help joining in.
‘Cheese? Cheese!’ cried the master in despair. ‘Your thoughts are on your dinner, not your lesson, Ingels. I despair of you. What about you, Hengrave? Save me from these imbeciles.’
My laughter died. All eyes
turned to me. I wondered if they’d noticed that there was something very odd about their new classmate. It seemed all too obvious to me. I felt as if I had a big arrow suspended over my head emblazoned ‘Girl!’
‘Boy, I asked you a question.’ Mr Castleton picked up a thin cane on his desk and began to swish it against his leg.
Reminded of Charlie’s warning about beatings, I wrestled my mind round to the problem before me. Amor, amor. I knew a French word very like that.
‘Love?’ I hazarded.
‘Exactly.’ He tapped the board with his cane. ‘Amor means love. Thank goodness someone has something between their ears. Carry on, Richmond.’
My luck was holding. My complete ignorance of Latin had been hidden for one lesson. If Charlie and Frank gave me some intensive tutoring, I began to hope that I might just be able to fool my teachers for a week or two.
The class was dismissed at midday. As the Abbey bells tolled the hour, I followed the boys outside into the green space of the Dean’s Yard, wondering where I was to go next.
‘Love? Love? What sort of nan boy would know that kind of stuff?’ someone sneered as I passed two boys slouching in the winter sunshine. It was Richmond with Ingels beside him. I walked on, trying to remember to stride rather than take small steps as I usually did in skirts.
‘He looks like a nan boy, doesn’t he, Ingels?’
‘Yeah, just like a girl.’
It was no good. I’d have to stop or they’d next be shouting ‘girl’ – and that was an idea I did not want planted in anyone’s head.
‘Who are you calling a nan boy?’ I challenged, clenching my fists.
‘Pretty boy getting in a temper, is he?’ said Richmond, squaring up to me. ‘New boy not know his place? Still, they’re all nan boys in Dame Clough’s – not like us in Ottley’s.’
It seemed he was talking about some Westminster boy rivalry between the boarding houses. I had no idea what a real boy would do in this situation. I had to guess.
‘Call me that again and I’ll thrash you,’ I said, raising my fists in a boxing stance as I’d seen boys do.
‘I’d like to see you try,’ laughed Richmond, adding, ‘nan boy.’
That was it. I had no choice, Reader. I thumped him as hard as I could, remembering to follow through with a hook from my left as Syd had taught me. Richmond went down, but I then found Ingels jumping me from behind. I hadn’t planned on that. I went down with him and we all ended up in a confused scrap on the ground, with me taking an elbow in the eye.
‘Leave him alone!’ Someone yanked Ingels off me. ‘Are you all right, Ca . . . Tom?’ I was pulled to my feet and saw Frank and Charlie standing beside me, glaring furiously. Charlie sent Richmond packing with a kick up the backside. ‘Lay off my brother, Richmond, or you’ll be sorry. And you, Fatty!’
‘He started it!’ moaned Richmond as he limped away. Charlie and Frank looked at me in surprise.
‘Damn it, Cat, your nose is bleeding – and your eye!’ hissed Frank, tucking me under his arm. ‘I told you not to get into trouble!’
‘But they called me a girl!’ I protested. ‘And insulted Clough’s! I thought that’s what a boy would do.’
Frank exchanged looks with Charlie. ‘They would,’ he admitted reluctantly. ‘But you . . . you shouldn’t. It’s not right.’
‘Look, you got me into this. I’m just trying to play my part right! Bit late for qualms about seeing me in a scrap, isn’t it?’ I dabbed my nose: I was dripping blood on to my lip. ‘I thought I did quite well considering it was two against one.’
‘You did, little brother, I’m proud of you,’ said Charlie, slapping me on the back. ‘We’ll tell the boys in the house how you took on two bruisers from Ottley’s on your first day: it’ll do your reputation no end of good.’
I gave him a bloody smile.
‘Let’s get you cleaned up,’ sighed Frank. ‘I can see we’ve a long day ahead of us.’
I soon discovered that life as a schoolboy was far more of a grind than I had imagined. When lessons were over, we had a breather for dinner, but then were expected to go to work again at something called Prep.
‘What’s that?’ I whispered as we made our way back into the classroom.
‘Preparation for lessons,’ said Frank. ‘Here – take this.’ And he thrust a Latin Primer into my hand. ‘I hope you’re a fast study. I had a word with Rookie and you’re doing Horace again on Monday. Look at Chapter Three.’
‘Rookie?’
‘Mr Castleton,’ explained Charlie. ‘You have to watch him, Cat: he’s completely obsessed with the Latin play. He’ll have you on the stage before you know it. Last year I got landed with a main part.’
‘Clytemnestra,’ snorted Frank. ‘Dress, wig – the works. It was a sight for sore eyes.’
‘Yes, well, thank you, Frank, for mentioning that,’ growled Charlie. ‘I had hoped I’d lived it down by now.’
‘You know I’ll never let you forget,’ grinned Frank. He turned back to me. ‘You’ll be all right in Arithmetic and Greek – they won’t expect you to know much – so I’d concentrate on the Latin if I were you.’
‘When this is all over, at least I’ll be qualified as a governess,’ I groaned, flipping over the cramped pages of text.
‘Disqualified,’ quipped Frank. ‘Girls don’t learn Latin, lucky beggars.’
‘Shh!’ Charlie hissed as Richmond took a seat along the table from us, eyeing my companions resentfully.
Dr Vincent came in and everyone but me immediately got to their feet. Frank kicked me and I leapt up.
‘I’m a boy, I’m a boy,’ I chanted to myself under my breath. ‘Boys get up when elders enter the room.’ I let my eyes wander round the room, searching for character notes. I’d never paid so much attention before. Ugh! Boys pick their nose. Boys scratch their armpits. I began to scratch mine, surprised to find how satisfying it was.
‘Hengrave Junior, stop that disgusting habit! We are a school for young gentlemen, not Covent Garden costermongers!’ barked Dr Vincent. Frank turned to look at me in astonishment. I winked and linked my hands behind my back.
‘You may sit down!’
With a noise like thunder, we resumed our seats and applied ourselves to work.
And that was when a miracle happened. Do you know, Reader, I found that those close-printed pages held a feast of poetry I had never before tasted. I couldn’t confine myself to Chapter Three. I had to leaf through to glance at the verses and their translations. Latin was a lovely language, I realized as I sounded out the lines in my head. Why had I not known this? Every schoolboy I met had complained about the tedium of studying it, but why? There was so much here I recognized. Playwrights had mined this stuff for some of the best speeches in English drama. I felt as if I had come home.
The hour for Prep passed in a blink of an eye and then we were released for what remained of the day. Frank linked arms with me and we went outside. He kept looking at me out of the corner of his eye and shaking his head.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked as we made our way up into his set.
‘It’s uncanny. I keep forgetting who you really are.’
‘I know. You’d never’ve gone through a door first when I was . . . well, before today.’
‘Did I? Oh, sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry. That’s just how it should be.’
We arrived back at the set to find Charlie was toasting some bread for supper. The smell was delicious. He buttered a slice for me.
‘Ladies first,’ he said, chucking it in my direction.
‘Don’t. I was telling Frank, you’ve both got to forget all that. Something might slip out by mistake.’
‘You’re right.’ Charlie sat back on his haunches. ‘So half-starved Tom Cat’s first then. You look to me as if you’ve missed a few too many meals, brother.’
I didn’t know where to look. His observation was true but I wasn’t used to young gentlemen making personal remarks about my appearance. By
changing clothes, I’d crossed a boundary and would have to become accustomed to being treated as an equal. Well, I’d better do the thing properly. I slumped in an old armchair with feet up on the fender and took a big bite. You know, girls, being a boy’s not half bad. You get to slouch around in comfortable clothes. No one tells you to sit up straight and act like a lady. There were compensations in this otherwise disastrous situation.
‘I think we’d better get a message to Syd and Pedro,’ I said when we’d demolished a stack of toast. ‘If I know Syd, he’ll be combing the streets for me. And Pedro will worry.’ It now came back to me that I had promised Mr Equiano to keep an eye on my friend. In the adventures of the day, I’d temporarily forgotten the peril he was facing. Hawkins had effectively rendered me useless by forcing me to go on the run. ‘And we’ll need to check Pedro’s safe.’
‘I’d given that some thought too. I sent Lizzie a note with the carriage this morning,’ said Frank. ‘And I forgot to mention that I got one back telling me on no account to proceed with the plan for you. Too late, hey?’ He grinned and chucked Lizzie’s note into the fire. ‘Syd’s easy. We already have an arrangement for passing messages.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I order sausages.’
‘Or chops,’ added Charlie.
‘Sometimes kidneys. The last lot went down a treat devilled for breakfast. Syd or one of the boys brings them. It’s getting late, but I’m sure he’ll make a special delivery for us.’
Frank disappeared downstairs to dispatch a messenger and I found myself alone with Charlie for the first time. It felt very awkward without Frank. I was suddenly very conscious that I was masquerading as a boy in a strange place with someone I hardly knew. I couldn’t stop it – a blush crept up my cheeks. I sat up straight and crossed my ankles.
‘You must think me very shocking, getting into trouble with the runners and the rest.’
Charlie stirred the fire. ‘Well, I must say you’re not a bit like my sister. Not that that’s a bad thing,’ he added hurriedly. ‘She’s very much a busybody – a great friend of Frank’s sister.’ He dropped the poker. ‘I hope she doesn’t take it into her head to visit me. She’s in London at the moment . . .’