Cat Among the Pigeons

by Julia Golding

  ‘My Latin isn’t all that good, sir. I don’t think I’m up to appearing in a play,’ I said hastily, not adding that I certainly didn’t want to be cast as a girl.

  ‘Nonsense! I can coach you in your part. You have the soul of the language – that’s what counts. That’s what makes the Westminster Latin play fit for kings! Indeed, the Prince of Wales himself is a great supporter – loves to see the Latin greats on the stage here at the school.’

  As we descended the steps, I saw that Frank and Charlie had the unfortunate runner backed up against the porch.

  ‘Come on, Smythie, you can’t tell me you don’t remember Ponsonby Wilmington. Good lord, man, he went to Delhi with you on the same ship,’ Frank was saying.

  ‘Look, sir, this has gone far enough.’ The trap’s face was now the same colour as his scarf. ‘I’m not Captain What-yer-ma-call-it. I don’t know any Ponsonby Wilmington. I’ve never been to India. I’m an officer of the law and you are obstructing my enquiries!’

  Frank saw me emerging with Mr Castleton. He gave me a grin as he waited for me to pass.

  ‘Do you know, Charlie, I think I may have made a mistake. Come to think of it, Captain Bennington-Smythe doesn’t look anything like our man here, not since he had that wooden leg fitted. I’m awfully sorry to have inconvenienced you, officer. My mistake entirely.’

  Frank and Charlie both shook the man solemnly by the hand.

  ‘Carry on, officer, carry on,’ said Charlie. ‘So sorry to have detained you.’

  And ignoring me and Mr Castleton, they turned tail and bolted into Westminster School before the runner had time to protest.

  ‘Those two,’ said the teacher with a shake of his head. ‘Always up to something. What was that all about, I wonder?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, sir,’ I lied.

  The midday bell released us from Bible study. I had hoped that Richmond had forgotten his desire to teach me fencing, but he looked over as we rose to leave the room and gave me a businesslike nod.

  ‘Don’t worry, Cat. We’ll come and make sure he plays fair,’ said Frank, following my gaze.

  ‘Avon, Hengrave Senior, come here!’ Dr Vincent had appeared in the door with a thunderous expression on his face. ‘What’s all this I hear about you accosting an officer of the law this morning?’

  Charlie gave me a shove in the back. ‘You’d better go in case our friend is somewhere about. We’ll be along as soon as we can.’

  Feeling very exposed without Charlie and Frank beside me, I crossed the quad to the archway leading to the Dean’s Yard. Boys were pouring out of school in all directions, heading for the fields. Some had skates around their neck – the duck pond had frozen over in the night, promising capital sport. I would have much preferred to join them than take lessons from Richmond.

  The old oak was not hard to spot. It leaned across the grass as if it hardly had the energy to stand upright. Two boys waited beneath its bare branches.

  ‘It’s just like Twelfth Night,’ I muttered to myself. ‘Viola dressed as a boy going to fight Sir Andrew Aguecheek.’ The thought made me smile. My life had become like some absurd play – but at least that was something I could understand.

  ‘Where’s your big brother and your substance?’ asked Richmond, looking over my shoulder to the archway. ‘I thought you were too scared to be seen without them.’

  ‘They’re busy,’ I said tersely.

  ‘So, Hengrave, fancy yourself as a blade, do you?’ Richmond threw me a thin practice sword.

  ‘Not really.’ I took a few swipes at the air to get the feel of it. It wasn’t too heavy.

  ‘I’ll just teach you the rudiments today.’ Richmond’s eyes were glinting with an evil light. ‘Nothing too taxing for a sickly specimen like you.’

  ‘I’m not sickly.’

  ‘No? We’ll see. Hold your blade up in the guard position. Yes, that’s it. You’ll find it easier with your jacket off.’

  ‘I’m all right as I am, thank you.’

  Richmond took off his own jacket and threw it to Ingels. ‘I suppose you’re too prim to be seen in your shirtsleeves. You are a queer fellow, Hengrave.’

  I said nothing. I had clearly made another error in my boyish behaviour. Unbuttoning my jacket, I hung it over a lower branch of the tree and turned to face my adversary.

  ‘Now, watch me – here’s the first move.’ Stepping forward quickly, Richmond brought his blade up to mine with a tap, tap. ‘Try to gain ground so that you keep the initiative, see?’ He lunged towards me. I backed away. ‘Now, you try.’

  My memory of the moves used in stage fights came greatly to my assistance as Richmond drilled me in the basics of fencing. He did not depart from his script as teacher. I almost began to think that he had meant nothing malicious by his invitation to introduce me to the sport. I was wrong.

  ‘Right, I think you know enough now to try a practice fight.’ Richmond paused, wiping his forehead on the back of his sleeve and glancing around the yard to check we were unobserved.

  ‘What?’ I let my sword trail on the ground.

  Richmond darted forward and prodded me hard in the ribs. I yelped. ‘Never drop your guard, Hengrave. Come on, a quick fight just to drive home what you’ve learned.’

  ‘I’m not sure . . .’

  ‘He’s scared,’ grunted Ingels.

  ‘I’m not!’ I retorted.

  ‘Then prove it,’ challenged Richmond.

  Ladies, you should know that being a boy is very complicated. To maintain my honour I would have to fight, but that would result in a very humiliating defeat, I had no doubt. I held my sword in the guard position.

  ‘That’s better. En garde!’

  Richmond let himself go at me with a hail of blows. I parried the first two, but then took several to my body. The last one smashed down on my fingers, bringing tears to my eyes. I dropped the sword and cradled my hand, anger buzzing inside me.

  ‘As I said yesterday, new boys should remember their place,’ said Richmond, breaking off his attack and giving me a mirthless smile. ‘I expect you to show me more respect next time, Hengrave.’

  ‘Respect? Don’t make me laugh! You’re nothing but a pisspot bully, Richmond,’ I spat. He went white but I’m afraid my temper had run away with me now and I couldn’t stop my mouth. ‘Think you’re so clever, don’t you? Well, all I can say is you’re overdue a thrashing, you . . . you gadso!’

  And I grabbed my jacket from the branch and strode off as fast as I could back to my rooms.

  I was still fuming as I crashed into the room and threw myself into a chair. My side was covered in bruises and my hand still smarted from the blow. I hated being a boy. I so wanted to be back home at Drury Lane with my own people, not masquerading among bullying rich boys and cane-obsessed teachers. I covered my face with my hands and gave vent to the furious tears that had been waiting to spill.

  Footsteps came up the stairs and the door opened. I wiped my face on my sleeve but it was too late.

  ‘Cat? What happened?’ Frank came in and crouched before me. Then he saw the slash across my knuckles and swore.

  ‘I’ll kill him,’ muttered Charlie, grinding his fist into his palm.

  ‘Richmond’s a wart on the face of humanity,’ I said angrily, blowing my nose. ‘I don’t know what they put in the water in the West Indies but he’s clearly from the same school as Pedro’s old master. But don’t you do anything. This is between him and me.’ Frank got to his feet and winced. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing the Avon rear protector could not have handled, but unfortunately we did not go to church prepared,’ said Frank regretfully.

  ‘I’m sorry. This is all my fault,’ I groaned.

  ‘Absolutely, Cat, but it’s worth every minute of pain. I’ve never known school to be so exciting.’ Frank smiled, challenging me to cheer up.

  I grimaced. ‘I think it’s war between me and Richmond. I called him a gadso. I’ve never called anybody a gadso before but i
t just slipped out.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Frank, struggling to hide a grin.

  ‘What’s a gadso?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘One of the riper words of Covent Garden indicating a rather delicate part of the male anatomy, suggesting that the subject has nothing else in his skull,’ explained Frank.

  ‘Oh.’ Charlie grinned. ‘I’ll remember that. Cat, thanks for broadening my education.’

  I gave a grim smile. ‘Stick around me, Charlie, and it’ll be so broad you won’t be able to see the edges.’

  If Richmond was meditating his revenge, he was taking his time about it. I begged Frank to continue my fencing training in case of further challenges but nothing happened to call on my new skills. The following weeks passed without incident, not even a near escape. The other boys had accepted me as part of Frank and Charlie’s circle of friends and ceased to pay particular attention to me. I even avoided having to act for the older boys as a skivvy – or ‘fag’ in schoolboy parlance – for Frank had made it clear that I was his and Charlie’s personal dogsbody. Not that Frank would have got away with giving me orders had the mood taken him. Wisely, he didn’t dare.

  Settling into my role, I was amused to find out more about Frank’s life at school. Being the son of a duke placed him at the top of the social ladder, so he did not have to try hard to earn respect like the rest of us. He had, however, gained himself a notoriety all of his own which was nothing to do with his blue blood. Known as ‘The Wizard’ to the other boys, I was amazed to find that Frank had introduced into Westminster some of the skills he had picked up from his acquaintances in Covent Garden. He augmented his income by forging letters from parents for needy pupils, and had been known to rewrite reports home from the teachers. His mastery of Dr Vincent’s hand was particularly commended. He had a little business going with Nick, Syd’s second-in-command and apprentice to a shoemaker, who supplied him with the supple leather required for the manufacture of the Avon Rear Protector. Nick’s sister, a seamstress, sewed the false lining in the seat of the breeches belonging to the young gentlemen, taking the sting out of the flogging administered by that lover of the rod, Dr Vincent. Frank’s rooms were a hive of activity with pupils coming and going with requests for Frank’s aid in the various trials of their life at school. All I had to do was sit in the shadows and watch.

  By the end of the second week, my academic career was developing in leaps and bounds. Mr Castleton had ranked me tenth in the form for my knowledge of Latin. Not the grammar, he explained to his listeners, of which I showed a very shaky grasp, but the true poetry of it.

  ‘This boy is the only one who really understands. Watch him and learn!’ he declared as he got me to read out a verse aloud. That was easy. My training at Drury Lane made this child’s play. ‘See, he’s reading it as if he means it – not murdering it as the rest of you do. Now, Southey, you translate.’

  But this proved to be a temporary lull. Life got much more complicated as November turned into December. It was a glorious winter’s day with cold, blue skies, and we had been given some free time as lessons finished early. Frank and Charlie decided to go snipe hunting in Tothill Fields. I’d begged off, saying I wanted to spend more time with my Latin books.

  ‘No need to work so hard, Cat. You’re doing fine from what I hear,’ said Frank. ‘Rookie’s very impressed by you. Why not take a holiday and come and watch?’

  ‘No thanks. I really want to read.’

  ‘Proof, if ever you need it,’ he said, shaking his head in disbelief, ‘that you’re not the real thing, Cat. No self-respecting boy would sit in on a day like this.’

  ‘Get lost, my lord,’ I said, throwing a cushion at him.

  Frank didn’t understand what a luxury it was to have time to study uninterrupted. At the theatre I had had to squeeze my education into my spare time. It had been somewhat neglected since Mr Salter, no friend of mine, had replaced Johnny as prompt. His idea of educating me was to set me the grate in his office to shine with blacklead while he delivered lectures on female virtue from Fordyce’s sermons. He had made it clear to Mr Sheridan and Mr Kemble that he thought it very dangerous to teach a girl of my class because it would raise me above my allotted station in life. However, they had insisted he continue the work begun by his predecessors. They probably thought they were doing me a favour, but if I hear another word written by the insufferable Fordyce, I’ll scream.

  So I liked the change I had unexpectedly made to a life devoted to study. Hidden in Westminster School with my books, I could pass the time with the gods, fight on the battlefields of Troy, or wander the world with Aeneas. This was all the holiday I needed.

  Much sooner than I had expected, I heard footsteps returning back up the stairs. Someone coughed loudly outside the door.

  ‘Wait a moment, I’ll just check that our room mate is prepared to receive visitors,’ said Charlie loudly.

  ‘Oh Milly, you must see the view from the window over here.’ I heard Lizzie say.

  ‘I can’t see anything special. It looks out on a brick wall.’ This last voice belonged to a stranger.

  Charlie slipped through the door. ‘My sister’s here, Cat. Lizzie brought her in the carriage when she called in to leave a parcel for Frank with the porter. I’ve been trying to keep her happy with a tour of the whole damn school, but she insists on seeing my rooms. Just follow my lead, all right?’

  ‘But she’ll know I’m not your brother, Charlie!’ I looked about me, wondering if it were feasible to take to my bed with a sudden fever.

  ‘Of course she will. No, for her, you’re just another boy.’

  ‘Really, Lizzie, I can’t see anything remarkable about those bricks,’ said Milly. The door was opening. I messed up my hair and assumed my best bored expression. ‘So these are your rooms, Charlie. Very nice. So much light up here.’ A girl of Lizzie’s age glided into the room. She was dressed in a deep red cape with fur round the hood. Her dark eyes darted from side to side with lively attention to every detail. Lizzie followed, wearing her pretty grey spenser jacket and muff. Our eyes met. An expression of consternation passed across her face. Did I really look that shocking? She turned her gaze away.

  ‘Ladies,’ said Charlie formally, bowing to them. ‘May I introduce our room mate Tom . . . Cat Smith.’

  I bowed clumsily.

  ‘Tom Cat? What a peculiar name?’ commented Milly, staring at me through her long black lashes.

  ‘It’s a nickname,’ Frank jumped in quickly. ‘His full name is Thomas Bennington-Smythe. I’m looking after him this term: he’s my shadow.’

  Milly gave me a smile. ‘What a sweet little boy. He does look a bit like a kitten, doesn’t he, Lizzie, with those big green eyes?’

  ‘Er, yes,’ said Lizzie quickly, her gaze gliding over me as if she did not know where to look. I flushed with embarrassment.

  ‘How old are you, child? You look very young to be at this school.’

  ‘He’s only two years below me, Milly, though he is one of the smallest,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Do you like school, Tom Cat?’ She was talking to me as if I was barely out of the nursery.

  ‘Yes, thank you, miss,’ I replied gruffly.

  ‘You know, I’ve got a brother your age. He’s called Thomas too.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we be going?’ interrupted Lizzie, pulling on her friend’s arm. ‘The Miss Millers will be waiting for us.’

  ‘They won’t mind if we’re a bit late,’ Milly replied, taking the chair I had just vacated. ‘Now, how about rustling your sister up a cup of tea, Charlie?’

  There seemed no shifting her. Charlie pretended he had run out of tea but Milly sniffed out the caddy in a trice and put the kettle on the fire herself.

  ‘Anyone would think you weren’t pleased to have visitors, Charlie,’ Milly said with a laugh. ‘Don’t you want to hear how the Movement is getting on? You were all fired up with enthusiasm for it last week when there was the African boy to champion.’

  ‘I
still am,’ said Charlie, urging the kettle on to steam so that tea could be dispensed as quickly as possible.

  ‘And what about you, Mr Tom Cat?’ Milly had clearly taken a fancy to my nickname. ‘Are you a supporter of the cause?’

  ‘Yes, indeed, miss,’ I said, wishing she wouldn’t keep smiling at me as I was trying to keep to my boyish sulks.

  ‘Then perhaps you’d like one of these?’ She took from her capacious reticule a flat pottery disc about the size of my palm. ‘It’s made by Mr Wedgwood’s manufactory.’ I took it from her and saw that it was decorated on one side with a kneeling African in chains. Surrounding him were the words ‘Am I not a man and a brother?’ – a line from one of my favourite anti-slavery poems by Cowper.

  ‘Thank you, miss.’

  ‘Well, they’re a guinea each. We’re selling them to raise money for our work.’ She gave me an expectant look.

  ‘Oh.’ I blushed an even deeper shade of red. I didn’t have a guinea – just the loose change that Mr Sheridan had thrust into my hand up in the Sparrow’s Nest and there was no gold among those coins.

  ‘Here, I’ve got some money. You can pay me back later, Tom Cat,’ said Frank quickly.

  ‘Thanks.’ The medallion now seemed to be burning my hand as I stuffed it into my jacket. Unfortunately, Milly did not have a tactful bone in her body. Her attempts to make amends for putting me on the spot only made things worse.

  ‘I do apologize, Mr Tom Cat. Of course, I should have thought that you might not have the means to pay out such a sum. I should have asked Charlie first.’

  ‘It’s all right, miss.’

  ‘No, it’s not. I can see I mortified you. You must never be embarrassed by lack of means.’ She cocked her head to one side, examining me closely. ‘I’ve no doubt your father is an honourable man much respected in the circles he moves in, despite financial constraints. Am I right?’

  ‘I am an orphan, miss,’ I said sullenly.

  ‘Oh lord, worse and worse! Please forgive me. My family are always telling me that when I get myself in a hole, I must stop digging, but I don’t seem able to somehow. I have an instinct for saying the wrong thing, you could say. So, Mr Tom Cat, you must have a very kind patron who pays your fees, I suppose? Some decent man of good family? You must count yourself very fortunate.’