‘I don’t care if you send me to school, Father, as long as you listen to the truth for once!’
‘Insolent boy!’ cried the duke, raising his hand as if to box Lord Francis’s ears but at the last moment letting it drop.
Marchmont was grinning, enjoying Lord Francis’ discomfort. I wished I were close enough to slap him.
‘But, Papa,’ said Lady Elizabeth, laying a gentle hand on her father’s sleeve, ‘it is true . . . I did give her those things.’
The duke patted his daughter’s arm tenderly.
‘I know you’re just saying this in a misguided attempt to help the girl, Lizzie. You would not willingly have pawned the jewels your mother and I gave you on your coming out . . . I know how dear they are to you. What earthly reason could you have to do this? You want for nothing, need nothing. I’ve always seen to that.’
Lady Elizabeth turned agonised eyes to me. I could guess what she was thinking: if she mentioned Johnny now, before the magistrate, then he would be joining me in the holding cells with little or no chance of escape. Who knows what the law would make of our attempt to help a wanted man? We were all bound to silence until his ship sailed.
‘Papa, you’ve always been very generous to me, but I didn’t want to tell you that . . . that . . .’ Lady Elizabeth floundered.
‘That she needed money to pay my gambling debts,’ said Lord Francis quickly.
The duke wheeled round to his son.
‘Gambling debts? This is the first I’ve heard of debts! When did this happen?’
‘At the boxing last Sunday . . . the match between the Bow Street Butcher and the Camden Crusher,’ he said, the details rolling fluently from his tongue.
The duke flushed red, realising that his son’s illness had been feigned. He had escaped a morally improving dose of church for a surfeit of pleasure by the ring.
‘And how did you get to a boxing match, sir? Who took you?’ he asked coldly.
‘Pedro, the African violinist, took me. Cat was against it and didn’t want me with them.’
‘This girl went to a boxing match?’ said the duke, looking at me incredulously. I suppose it did seem very unlikely, dressed as I was in lace and silk with my hair in ribbons. ‘Did you, girl? Is my son telling the truth?’
I nodded as it seemed I must if the gambling story were to be corroborated.
‘She was dressed as a boy, of course,’ said Lord Francis, wrongly thinking that this would make it more excusable in his father’s eyes.
‘Dressed as a boy?’ The duke’s blue eyes blazed beneath his beetling white brows.
I nodded again.
‘And I suppose she trapped you into gambling, didn’t she?’ said the duke to his son.
‘No, no, that was entirely my fault. She was against that as well. Later, Lizzie offered to help me out by pawning the jewels. Cat volunteered to take them to the broker.’
‘Hmm.’ The duke looked from his son to me. ‘It would be just like Lizzie to let you impose on her, Francis. You should be heartily ashamed of yourself for abusing your sister’s trust.’
Lord Francis hung his head, hoping this reprimand was a sign that his father was swallowing the story.
‘But you didn’t see a penny of it, did you, you young fool?’ Lord Francis opened his mouth to protest but the duke silenced him with a warning finger. ‘Admit it: you were let down. You chose your agent badly, didn’t you? The girl went off with the money and gave it to that Shepherd boy.’
‘A very bad character that,’ interjected the magistrate. ‘He was caught with the whole forty pounds on him, your grace. The girl had the pawnbroker’s ticket in her pocket when we picked her up. It seems an open and shut case of theft by deception . . . possibly extortion as well when we add in the clothes.’ He peered down his nose at me as if I was something unsavoury the dog had dug up. ‘That dress must be worth ten pounds at least, I’d say. Faced with such a breathtakingly audacious crime, I don’t think I can even take into account the tender age of the offender. I doubt I’ll recommend mercy when she comes for committal.’
Marchmont appeared delighted by the news.
‘And, sir, if I may add,’ he said, driving a further nail into my coffin, ‘I have cause to think she has been consorting with criminals of an even worse kind . . . traitors, no less . . . protecting them, no doubt in exchange for money.’
We had to get him off the subject of Johnny. I could find no words to speak in my own defence as the realisation hit me that neither the duke nor the magistrate believed in my good character and both were determined to see me punished for sins I had not committed. I was going nowhere but back to the holding cell; from there to the dock; from the dock to . . . I did not even want to think about that.
‘But, Papa, she’s not like that! Mr Marchmont is wrong. You don’t understand,’ pleaded Lady Elizabeth.
‘Ah, Lizzie, Lizzie!’ said the duke with a sad shake of his head. ‘Perhaps this whole experience will be a good lesson for you. You’ve been brought up so narrowly by your mother and me that you were not prepared when you came across your first experience of the depravity of men’s hearts. You saw an innocent-looking girl needing your help; I see a blood-sucking leech who has latched on to you and has taken advantage of your unsuspecting nature. If young Marchmont here had not alerted me to the danger, who knows what other liberties she would have taken?’
His insults were too much.
‘I’m not a leech!’ I protested. ‘You can have the dress back . . . I don’t care. I never stole that money. It was taken from me before I could give it back to Lady Elizabeth.’
‘I warned you, young woman,’ said the magistrate portentously, ‘save your speeches for the trial. I only allowed you up here on the request of the duke so that he could confront his children with your crimes. I think we’ve heard quite enough. You can take her back down.’
The runner put a heavy hand on my shoulder.
‘Cat!’ exclaimed Lady Elizabeth, breaking free of her father and dashing across to me to grab my wrist. ‘I swear it’ll be all right. I’ll make sure it is.’
‘Don’t touch her!’ barked the duke. ‘You don’t know what kind of pests and diseases she might be harbouring. I don’t want to lose my precious rose to a gaol-fever.’ He stepped between Lady Elizabeth and me so that my head butted against his embroidered waistcoat.
Lord Francis scrambled roughly past Marchmont and round the desk to intercept me at the door.
‘Is there anything you need, Cat? Other than to get out of here, of course?’ he asked with an attempt at a brave smile.
My voice broke into a sob as the runner began to drag me away. I tried to school my lips to respond in kind but my heart was breaking.
‘Ask Pedro to bring some of my things from the theatre . . . if they’ll let him,’ I said in a strangled voice. ‘But get me out of here quickly please! I’m in a cell with Billy Shepherd and I don’t think . . . I don’t think I’m going to last long.’
‘Dammit, Cat, we’ll get you out . . . I promise you! Even if it’s the last thing I do!’ called out Lord Francis as I was led away to my cell.
SCENE 4 . . . CHAMPAGNE
Reader, I can safely say that my first night in gaol was the worst experience of my life so far. The green silk dress no longer felt luxuriously soft against my skin; it had become a torment, eating into me with the acid touch of shame. I wanted to rip it off and would have done if I had had something else to put on. I did not dare sleep a wink for, though Billy gave up on working on his chains around midnight and was snoring loudly stretched out on his bench, I was afraid that if I dropped off to sleep, I would wake to find his knife at my throat . . . or not wake at all. Added to this, I was cold, hungry and just plain uncomfortable. I sat for many hours, hugging my knees, willing myself to stay alert, listening to the sound of the carriages and wagons rumbling past outside, the scratch of tiny clawed feet rooting in the straw. Somewhere in the darkness a steady drip, drip, drip marked the passing momen
ts.
I found myself wondering if I would ever see the light of day again. Just how firmly set against me was the duke? Would his children be believed once Johnny sailed and they could tell the whole truth, or would he think this just another invention to save my neck? And even if by some happy chance I was freed, what then? As Billy said, unless I was released without a stain on my character, no respectable place would want me back. Mr Sheridan would perhaps believe my story, but even he might be persuaded to doubt me. After all, my conduct over the past few days, eavesdropping and popping up where he least wanted me to be, would hardly endear me to him. Mr Sheridan had not felt able to trust me with the secret of the diamond. I would understand if he now preferred to see the back of me.
My dark thoughts were interrupted in the small hours of the morning by a soft metallic tapping noise. I started, wondering for a disconcerted moment if Billy had begun work on his fetters again, but then realised that the sound came from the grating in the ceiling . . . the only entry for light and air to the cellar beneath.
‘Cat!’ came a soft hiss. ‘Cat!’
I leapt to my feet and moved as quietly across the room as I could so as not to wake my cellmate. Rats scattered from my path, squeaking in alarm. Billy gave a murmur. I stopped. He then rolled over on to his back and resumed snoring even louder than before.
‘Cat!’ came the voice again, now more urgent.
I reached the grating and stood directly below it, looking up into the darkness.
‘Who is it?’ I whispered.
‘It’s me, Pedro!’ said my friend, rather too loudly.
I could have wept to hear his voice.
‘Ssh!’ I cautioned. ‘Billy’s here . . . asleep for the moment, but he could wake up.’
Pedro lowered his voice. ‘I’ve got Syd and Frank with me . . . they’re keeping watch. We couldn’t get to you before now. The night patrol’s just gone in for some refreshment. We’ve only got a few minutes, I’d guess.’
‘I’m so pleased you came.’ I didn’t need to tell him how awful it was. Pedro had been on the lower decks of a slave ship. He’d know only too well and would have seen worse.
‘I’ve got some food. Frank took it from home. I’ll slip it between the bars. I’ve got something to drink too, but I can’t get the bottle through,’ Pedro said.
‘Wait!’ I said. ‘I’ve got a mug.’ I ran to fetch the cup of water I’d been given with my crust for supper. I tipped the remains into the slop bucket and held it up. Pedro uncorked a bottle and began carefully to pour the contents between the bars. I had to stretch on my tiptoes to reach up and I wobbled slightly at one point. The liquid splashed on the side of the cup and cascaded down on to my upturned face.
‘What is it? I gasped as the sweet mixture splashed into my eyes and mouth. I wiped it away.
‘Champagne,’ said Pedro.
‘Champagne!’
‘It’s all Frank could steal from home, Cat.’
‘I must be the first prisoner at His Majesty’s Pleasure to sup on champagne!’ I said, managing my first smile since I had arrived down here.
‘Cat, you’re a marvel.’ In the faint moonlight, I could see Pedro’s eyes twinkling. ‘Here’s the food.’ He pushed a flat parcel between the bars.
‘What’s this?’ I joked, stuffing it into my pocket for later consumption. ‘Smoked salmon and syllabub?’
‘No,’ answered Pedro with perfect seriousness. ‘Game pie, roast beef and apple and almond tart. Leftovers from some fancy dinner party, Frank says. It might be a bit jumbled up . . . sorry about that . . . but I had to squash it to get it through.’
We were both silent for a moment, Pedro staring down, me looking up.
‘Oh Cat . . .’he began. I could tell he was going to commiserate with me but I couldn’t bear that. It was all I could do to keep from breaking down as it was.
‘How’s the wind? Has Johnny sailed?’ I asked quickly.
‘No.’ Pedro looked nervously over his shoulder, presumably to where the others were waiting. Our time was running out. ‘And we’ve agreed that tomorrow we’ll let Johnny know what’s happened and tell the duke the whole story.’
‘You can’t do that!’ I said, aghast. ‘They’ll catch him.’
‘But we all know that Johnny wouldn’t want us to leave you down here on his account. The only way the duke can be brought to believe his children is if Johnny be produced. The duke’s already packing Frank off to school tomorrow . . . our chances to change his mind are fast running out.’
‘But the duke will tell the magistrate, then Johnny’ll be down here charged with treason!’
‘We know,’ said Pedro grimly, ‘but in case you haven’t noticed you’re facing a capital charge too. We think that there’s more chance of a rich man with powerful friends, like Johnny, being let off by an English jury for insulting the king, than for an orphan like you, charged with theft by a peer of the realm. Let’s face it, Cat, you’re as good as dead if this goes any further.’
‘But . . . !’
‘There are no buts. You’re outvoted on this . . . four to one. Five to one if Johnny were here.’
‘Four? Who’s the fourth?’
‘Syd. We’ve told him the whole story. He said that if they don’t let you go he’ll break you out himself and finish Billy off while he’s at it, but we’ve persuaded him to hold off for the moment.’
‘Tell him thanks, but he’s not to get into any trouble for me,’ I said, though heartened to find I still had friends on my side.
Pedro looked over his shoulder. I too heard a sharp whistle.
‘That’s it. I’ve got to go. But you’re all right, aren’t you, Cat? Billy’s not giving you any trouble?’
‘I’m fine,’ I lied. What was the point in telling the truth? It would only upset them. ‘But, Pedro, don’t tell Johnny just yet. Let’s see if we can think of something else. I don’t want his death on my conscience.’
Pedro gave my outstretched fingers a gentle squeeze. ‘And we don’t want yours on ours! No promises, Cat. Goodbye!’
And with that he sprang to his feet and dashed off into the darkness.
His departure was rapidly followed by the tramp, tramp, tramp of the night patrol resuming their duties.
I returned to my bench and set my mug carefully down beside me. With great care I opened the package of food and spread it on my lap. So there I sat on a hard seat with my back against the slimy wall of the cell, staring down on a terrible irony. On my skirt was the finest supper I had ever seen, even though, as Pedro had warned, it was somewhat mangled in its journey across town. And I had champagne to wash it down . . . a drink I had never tasted before. Well, it was either look at the food until the rats stole it from under my nose, or eat and have done with ironies. I ate . . . and enjoyed it. But there was one unanticipated side-effect: the wine sent me into an overpowering sleep. Murderous cellmate or no, the bubbles of champagne could not be resisted.
‘Morning, Cat.’
I was rudely woken by an apple core bouncing on my forehead. I sat up with a start.
‘Still ’ere then with poor old Billy, I see. Might be thinking my offer weren’t so bad after all, eh?’
I looked across the cell and saw Billy grinning like an evil goblin in a fairytale.
‘You don’t look so fine this morning, girl. You‘d better get out of ’ere before you ruin that there new dress of yours.’
I looked down. The silk was now dirty and stained with the champagne that had spilled on it last night. My once white silk stockings were grey and had a large hole on one knee. My hair straggled over my shoulders, the once neat ringlets ruined by a night on the bench.
‘So where are your fine friends? Forgotten about their pussycat, ’ave they?’
No they haven’t, I thought to myself, determined not to let Billy wear me down with his jibes. After all, I had supped on fine meats and sparkling wine.
‘Good morning, Mr Shepherd,’ I said, stretching and yawning as
if just waking from a deep sleep on a goose feather mattress. I was feeling strangely light-headed as if buoyed up still on the bubbles of the champagne. ‘I see the weather is set fair today.’
Billy half-turned to look up the grating but then caught himself.
‘You’ve cracked, ain’t you, Cat? Poor girl: one night behind bars, and you’ve lost it.’
‘No, au contraire, mon ami, I have never been more in my right mind. I was just reflecting on the pleasure a good supper can give an empty belly.’
‘A good supper? You call a crust of bread and a mug of scummy water a good supper? They must ’ave been meaner at the theatre than I thought.’
I picked up my mug, which still had an inch of pale golden liquid at its bottom, and raised it to my companion.
‘Your good health, sir,’ I toasted him and downed it with a gulp, then gave a small, contented burp.
‘Mad! Quite mad!’ exclaimed Billy, rubbing his hand across his forehead, half in admiration, half in doubt.
The rattle of keys at the door made us both look up. Constable Lennox appeared in the entrance.
‘Miss Royal. Come with me.’
My heart leapt into my throat as I wondered what this summons signified. Surely it was too early for the magistrate to be sitting? I would have thought he would be sipping hot chocolate in his powdering gown, not choosing to deal with the London riffraff like me. Or . . . I swallowed hard . . . had they caught Johnny? But I had no choice in the matter: I had to follow.
Billy must have been wondering the same thing. My premature departure did not suit him at all: he’d not yet had time to persuade me to lie to save us both.
‘Where’s she goin’?’ he asked the runner urgently, again rushing to the length of his chain like a zealous guard dog.
The runner did not deign to give an answer, but shut the door on him.
‘This way, miss.’
He did not place his hand on my shoulder as he had done on my last outing from the cell but walked ahead, shining a lantern so that we would not miss our step. Anxious but intrigued I followed him up the stairs and into an office. There, standing in front of the desk occupied by the clerk Amos, was a gentleman in a claret-coloured jacket and black boots. He turned to face me: it was the Earl of Ranworth, Johnny’s father.