Den of Thieves

by Julia Golding

  ‘The dirty little beggar’s spoiled my wig! How can I go on stage looking like a chimney sweep?’

  ‘I can mend that in a trice with some powder. Just sit tight.’ Mrs Reid clucked and fussed over Miss Stageldoir’s head. She enveloped the actress in a cloud of white dust as she repaired the damage. ‘Look! As good as new.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Miss Stageldoir turned her face this way and that. ‘I suppose it’ll do, but make sure you punish the girl: it could have ruined my performance.’

  As if it needed me to spoil it – she did that well enough herself.

  ‘I will, you can be certain of that.’ Mrs Reid glared at me.

  This was so unfair!

  ‘But it wasn’t me, Mrs Reid. Mr Sheridan dropped the tray when he took me into his office.’

  Mrs Reid raised her eyebrows, taking in my crooked cap. ‘What was he doing with you in his office on your own?’

  Two of the dancers giggled as they brushed past. I blushed and tugged my cap back into place. ‘He wanted to show me his plans.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘Yes, plans for the new theatre,’ I continued loudly, savouring the moment when I would fire my broadside. ‘He’s closing Drury Lane and knocking it down. On 4th June to be precise. We’ve all got to move.’

  You could have heard a pin drop. In fact, several did tumble from Miss Stageldoir’s head as she jerked back in her chair to stare at me in disbelief.

  ‘What did you say?’ she hissed.

  ‘It’s the end. Drury Lane is doomed. The curtain falls. Can I put it any clearer for you . . . miss?’

  She missed my rudeness in her surprise. ‘But where are we going? Will we lose our positions?’ she exclaimed.

  An excited babble broke out in all quarters as the cast began to discuss their fate. Sooty wigs forgotten, the news spread as dancers darted off to whisper it to their boyfriends among the stagehands. Soon there was no corner of the theatre that did not know what was afoot, no doubt as Mr Sheridan had intended when he chose to tell me first.

  ‘Five minutes to curtain up! Beginners, please,’ called the stage manager as he tried to hush the hubbub behind the scenes.

  Miss Stageldoir swept past me without a word, her velvet train leaving a trail in the powder. With a sigh, I picked up a broom to sweep the floor.

  The orchestra began the overture as I made my exit from an empty dressing room. There was no one to see me go as all eyes were now on the stage.

  With leaden feet, I climbed the stairs to my lonely corner of the Sparrow’s Nest, and huddled on my couch counting the days until I had to fly away.

  Only twelve left.

  ACT I

  SCENE 1 – THE PROMISE

  The following morning, Syd Fletcher, leader of Covent Garden’s Butcher’s Boys gang, spotted me passing the door of his father’s shop.

  ‘Oi, Cat!’ he called, striding out on to the sun-drenched pavement and wiping his bloodied hands on his apron like Hercules returning from the slaughter of the lion. His hair shone gold in the dazzling light.

  ‘Oh, hello, Syd,’ I said, pausing to rub my brow with a handkerchief. I was wearing my best clothes and already sweltering in the heat. ‘I can’t stop: I’ve been invited to Frank and Lizzie’s this morning. They’re expecting me. Why don’t you come too?’

  ‘What, like this?’ laughed Syd, spreading his arms wide to display his stained working clothes. ‘Nah, Kitten. You look swell, all togged up in that white dress of yours; I’d lower the tone if I came with you.’

  ‘But Frank and Lizzie would love to see you.’

  He grinned and rubbed his yellow-bristled chin. ‘Perhaps, but not like this. I’ll see Frank happily enough down ’ere any day, but ’e won’t want me sippin’ tea and eatin’ off china plates any more than I’d like to be there. Nah, dook’s children ’ave their world and I ’ave mine: that’s ’ow it is and ’ow it’s meant to be.’

  ‘So what about me? Are you saying I shouldn’t be mixing with the likes of them?’ I suddenly felt very inadequate in my cheap muslin dress, knowing that Lizzie would doubtless be beautifully decked out and there might even be other visitors quick to notice my humble origins.

  Syd beckoned me to take a seat in the shade, first wiping the top of a barrel with his apron. The whole street had a tired, languid feel, like an old dog stretched out panting in the sun. Carriers’ carts rumbled wearily by, raising clouds of choking dust. The gutters smelt foul. ‘Course not, Cat. You’re an exception to the rule, you are.’

  That made me feel a bit better. I was, after all, going to visit my friends, not take part in a fashion parade. Lizzie and Frank wouldn’t care what I turned up in. Their mother had been an opera singer before her marriage to the Duke of Avon so her children had not inherited the usual prejudices of people of their rank. They did not regard me as beneath their notice.

  ‘So, what did you want me for, Syd? Was it about the theatre?’ I wondered how far the rumour about its closure had spread since last night.

  ‘What about the theatre?’

  Not very far yet then.

  ‘Mr Sheridan’s knocking it down to build a bigger one.’

  ‘What ’e want to go and do that for?’ asked Syd in amazement.

  ‘The march of progress, Syd, the winds of change,’ I said ironically.

  ‘The march of what? What you goin’ on about?’

  ‘Put it another way, some fool’s lent him the money and my patron wants to make his mark on London – leave something for him to be remembered by.’ I was feeling ungenerous to Mr Sheridan today. ‘Oh yes, and I s’pose there might be the little matter of making a bigger profit by selling more tickets.’

  Syd whistled and shook his head. ‘That’s a rum do – spending a fortune to make one.’

  ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself.’

  ‘But what about you, Cat? Where are you goin’ to live now, eh, when they knock your theatre down?’

  I shrugged, not wanting him to think I couldn’t look after myself. Pedro had asked me the very same question when I’d broken the news to him the night before. But I couldn’t bear to confess my worries to two of my best friends. Pedro was in no position to help me and as for Syd, he’d never let me in his gang if I appeared incapable of sorting out even this simple matter. I have my pride.

  ‘I don’t know yet, but I’ll find somewhere,’ I said more cheerfully than I felt.

  Syd nodded. ‘Mr Sheridan won’t let you down, not after all you’ve done for ’im in the past.’

  I didn’t want to tell him that this was exactly the kind of matter over which my patron was entirely unreliable. I just gave Syd a non-committal smile and got up to go.

  ‘’Ere, Cat, wait ’alf a tick. I ’aven’t told you my news yet.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  A country girl walked past with a tray of strawberries and gave Syd the eye. He winked back then blushed when he remembered who he was with.

  ‘I . . . er . . . I’m leavin’ London for a bit.’

  ‘No!’ I was astounded. Neither Syd nor I ever left town. Our bones were made from the dust of its streets and our blood from the water of the Thames. I couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d announced he was going to the moon.

  Syd was pleased to see that I was shocked by his announcement. ‘Just for a bit like, Kitten. Just for the summer. I’m goin’ on tour with me manager. We’re goin’ to take on all-comers at the fairs up and down the country. ’E says there’s a mint of money to be made in boxin’. ’E promises it’ll set me up for me own place in the autumn if all goes well. I’ll be able to think about settlin’ down.’

  I made a sceptical snort. Syd’s face fell. ‘What? You don’t like the idea of settlin’ down? Me startin’ a boxin’ academy?’

  ‘No, Syd, not that. It’s just that I don’t like your manager. I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him – which, as it’s my muscles we’re talking about, isn’t very far at all.’

  Syd turned away and ra
n his hands through his hair in exasperation. ‘Don’t start that again, Cat. What you got against Mick Bailey but his bad taste in jackets, eh? I know ’e looks a sharp one, but ’as ’e ever let me down, I ask you?’

  ‘He hasn’t had the chance. You’ve been on a winning streak.’

  ‘It’s more than a streak, Cat,’ said Syd, bobbing on his toes and making a jab at his shadow. ‘I’m good, bleedin’ marvellous, ’e tells me.’

  ‘For once, I agree with him. Just be careful.’

  ‘Course I will, you daft Kitten,’ he said, making a playful punch in the direction of my ribs. ‘I’m a big lad. I can look after meself, you know.’

  ‘I know.’

  We’d been friends for so many years, but I couldn’t see the grown-up Syd without remembering the boy who’d taken me under his wing when I was an infant. My earliest memories consisted of me trailing after him, pulling the little wooden horse he’d made me, or sitting unnoticed at his side when he played marbles with the boys. Later, I climbed the apple trees with him when we went scrumping in the Reverend James’s orchard and fled on his heels when we were spotted. Even then, he’d taken the punishment for me, saying it was his fault for leading me astray. I knew that he’d always been able to take care of himself and the others under his protection. It was only recently that I had come to appreciate that he was also sharper than he looked: a gentle, slow manner disguised an astute grasp of street politics. I was going to miss him.

  ‘So, when are you leaving?’

  ‘Monday. I’m puttin’ Nick in charge of the boys. I won’t let Billy Shepherd get on to my patch while I’m out of the way, don’t you worry.’ He stopped bouncing about and gave me a stern look. ‘You not ’eard from ’im again, ’ave you, Cat?’

  I shook my head, shivering as if the day had suddenly turned cold. Billy ‘Boil’ Shepherd, gang leader of the Rookeries mob, had both tried to kill me and saved my life in the last eighteen months. I wasn’t eager to find out what else he had in store for me on our next encounter. But still hanging over me was the little matter of my promise to Billy, made when trying to stop Pedro being kidnapped by his old slave master. I hadn’t heard anything more about this since that cold winter night on the Thames when I had given my word that I’d repay the debt I owed Billy. I had started to hope that he’d forgotten.

  ‘No, I think he must’ve lost interest in me.’

  ‘Good.’ Syd gave me a hand up from my seat. ‘Glad to ’ear it, Cat. ’E’s not stopped ’is nasty ’abit of dumpin’ his enemies in the river with rocks tied to their ankles. Very best thing a girl like you can do with a lad like that is keep well out of ’is way.’ The clock of a nearby church struck the hour. ‘You’d better be off. I’ve made you late, ’aven’t I?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. I’m pleased you let me know your plans yourself.’ I waved farewell as I walked briskly off towards the market.

  I hardly noticed the streets separating Covent Garden from St James as I pondered the news. Syd leaving home? That didn’t feel right – how would he manage away from his friends? And – a selfish thought slid into my mind – why did he have to go now? Just when I needed him more than ever.

  A cool breeze found its way across Hyde Park to Grosvenor Square, fluttering the gold tassels of the canopy stretched over our heads. Lady Elizabeth and I were reclining in chairs, raspberry sherbets in hand, enjoying the shade of the oriental booth erected in the garden in the middle of the square. Her chestnut hair was plaited in a fashionable Grecian style, caught high off her neck, and she was dressed in a beautiful lightweight pale blue gown. Tiny navy slippers decorated with seed pearls peeped out from under the hem. If I’d met Hercules outside the Butcher’s shop earlier, it wasn’t hard to imagine that I was now lying beside Helen of Troy. Out in the noonday sunshine, Lord Francis and Pedro were playing a very competitive game of Pall Mall. Lulled by the regular ‘clockclock’ of mallet striking balls, I had begun to doze off when a row erupted.

  ‘That ball went through!’ protested Lord Francis.

  ‘Didn’t,’ challenged Pedro. My African friend tilted his head defiantly up at his lordship. Frank had sprouted several inches during the spring and, unless you knew him well, struck an imposing figure with his shock of curly dark hair.

  ‘Did!’

  ‘Did not . . . my lord,’ said Pedro archly, bowing low.

  ‘Did, you . . . you musical dandy!’

  Pedro grinned, brushing off his impeccable yellow and blue livery. ‘Did not, you sartorial disgrace to the name of Avon.’ Frank’s shirt was hanging out and his cravat untied. He never liked conforming to the high standards expected of the heir to a dukedom.

  ‘Lizzie, Cat, tell Pedro that it went through!’ Frank appealed to us.

  ‘I’m not getting involved,’ said Lizzie wisely, waving her fan at her brother. ‘Both of you need your heads examining, if you ask me, for standing out there in that heat for so long.’

  ‘Cat! You tell him.’

  I laughed. ‘You are an outrageous cheat, Frank. It missed by inches. Just because you were blocking the hoop from Pedro’s view, doesn’t mean we don’t know what you were up to.’

  Frank threw his mallet on to the ground in a huff. ‘I tell you, it went through as sweet as a nut. If you were a boy again, Cat, I’d beat you for calling me a cheat.’

  ‘Frank!’ exclaimed Lizzie. ‘When are you going to start treating Cat properly?’ Frank shrugged and helped himself to a glass of sherbet. ‘I’m serious,’ Lizzie continued. ‘You’ve set the tone with the servants, you know – they all treat her like an honorary boy in the house, taking all sorts of liberties with her.’

  Frank gave me a quick look then turned away to watch Pedro who was collecting up the balls with his mallet. ‘What sort of liberties?’ he asked stiffly.

  ‘Lizzie, it’s nothing –,’ I tried to interrupt. I knew what she was going to say and blushed to be reminded of my latest indiscretion. There was something about being in the splendid surroundings of the Duke of Avon’s residence that made me incapable of behaving as I knew I should.

  ‘No, he should hear what he’s done,’ said Lizzie firmly. ‘Only last week, Joseph jumped out on her in the library and pushed her along on one of the ladders so she fell off and broke Father’s bust of Voltaire.’

  Frank laughed. ‘Oh, that’s all right then. I thought you meant something far more scandalous.’

  ‘Well, to some people that would be, Frank. And do you know what Joseph told me when I challenged him about it?’

  Frank shrugged.

  ‘He said, in his best Joseph manner, that he “couldn’t resist it, my lady” and that he “knew Miss Catherine liked it”. In his defence, I should say he offered to pay for the breakage out of his wages. I refused, of course – the bust was an ugly thing that none of us really liked. Now don’t tell me that you haven’t encouraged your footman to behave like that?’

  ‘Lizzie, I –’ I began.

  ‘No, Cat, this is between me and Frank. It’s not that I want to spoil your fun but you’re both growing up fast. My brother needs to treat you with respect or, well, you might find it very difficult in the future.’

  I didn’t want to listen to her. So many things were changing; I couldn’t keep pace. Behaviour that I had got away with just six months ago was now thought immodest for a young lady of my age. Everyone seemed to expect me to grow up, make my own way.

  ‘I’m sorry, Lizzie, I’ll try to behave better when I’m at your house,’ I said, unsuccessfully trying to hide my frustration.

  ‘Oh Cat, I’m not scolding you,’ said Lizzie with a smile. ‘We all like you as you are. I’m just trying to drum some manners into my incorrigible brother.’

  ‘I stand corriged,’ said Frank with a bow. ‘Miss Royal, if you would be so kind as to move your delicate toes from the end of the seat so that my sitting apparatus can place itself in the shade, I would be most obliged.’

  Even I had to laugh at that. Lizzie poured two more
glasses of sherbet and the four of us sat at our ease, sipping them appreciatively.

  ‘So, you’re both leaving Drury Lane and Syd’s off on tour, is he?’ asked Frank. ‘I wish I could go with him.’

  ‘We all seem to be on the move,’ said Lizzie.

  ‘Oh? Are you going to the country soon?’ I enquired. The Avons usually spent the summer on their estate near Bath.

  ‘No, it’s better than that,’ Lizzie replied, her blue eyes shining with a light I hadn’t seen since a certain gentleman of her acquaintance had left England. ‘Our cousin, the Comtesse de Plessis, has invited us to Paris. She thought that Father, as a friend of the revolution, might enjoy the 14th July celebrations.’

  ‘What do they get up to?’

  ‘Since the people of Paris stormed the Bastille prison on that day two years ago, they have begun to hold an annual holiday. They have music and processions – it all sounds wonderful.’

  ‘Lizzie wouldn’t think it was so wonderful if a certain foreign dignitary wasn’t going to be there,’ added Frank in an undertone. ‘I fear Cousin Rebecca is playing cupid.’

  ‘Oh?’ asked Pedro.

  ‘Don’t tell me, Johnny’s going to be in Paris!’ I exclaimed.

  Lizzie nodded shyly, her face wreathed in smiles. ‘He’s been sent by an American newspaper to record the proceedings.’

  ‘Lizzie and Lord Johnny have been plotting this between them for some time,’ Frank continued.

  ‘Not exactly plotting, Frank,’ corrected Lizzie. ‘Just taking advantage of a happy coincidence.’

  As pleased as I was to hear that the two young lovers were to be reunited, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed that my friend Johnny was going to be so near and yet I wouldn’t have a chance to see him. Johnny still had the little matter of an arrest warrant hanging over his head for treasonous cartoons – he would be unable to return to England for many years.

  ‘Are you going too, Frank?’ I asked enviously.

  ‘Lord no, Cat. I’d be quite the wallflower. Mama and Lizzie will be shopping all day, Father talking to the political chaps. In the evening, Lizzie will be billing and cooing with Johnny and my honoured parents going to dinner parties – I’d be in everyone’s way. No, I’ve been exiled to the family pile.’ He gave me a sour smile.