Den of Thieves

by Julia Golding

  ‘Don’t worry, Cat, it’s not what you think,’ he laughed.

  ‘What do I think?’ I tried to keep my voice steady.

  He leant over a candelabra standing ready on a table and lit it with a taper. ‘You think I’m like some wicked Italian count in one of Mrs Radcliffe’s books, waiting to lock up the heroine in a dungeon.’

  ‘Congratulations, Billy! You’ve learnt to read at long last. I hadn’t realized you had such feminine tastes.’

  ‘I was just pitchin’ my conversation to your level, as a gentleman should.’

  His repartee had improved. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was taking lessons in that too, to pass himself off as a gent in any society stupid enough to give him houseroom.

  ‘Generosus nascitur non fit,’* I quipped, knowing full well he wouldn’t understand.

  ‘Don’t come over all clever with me, Cat. Just because you spent a couple of weeks in breeches learnin’ fancy languages, don’t mean you can outwit me.’

  ‘Course not, Billy,’ I said with a great show of humility. ‘What, I, a poor little ignorant maid, dare to rival the great, the learned William Shepherd?’

  ‘You know wot, Cat?’ he retorted, his accent on the slide. ‘I wish I’d ’ad the beatin’ of you when you were at that school. I ’ear you were quite the favourite punchbag for a while there. ’Ad I known, I’d’ve enrolled and whipped some of that cheek out of you.’

  ‘You’re a true gentleman, Billy, do you know that? One would never guess you were raised in the gutter and made your way through thieving and thuggery.’

  I truly was insane. Here I was in his house, with his servants waiting on his call, and I was insulting him as freely as ever. But Billy had had enough. ‘Shut yer mouth and get in there.’ He gave me a shove in the small of the back.

  I gasped. I had stumbled into Aladdin’s cave. It wasn’t a dungeon but a display cabinet for Billy’s collection of –

  ‘Jools, Cat, that’s wot I like. See a bit of work that catches me eye and I ’as to ’ave it.’

  The shelves were laden with cameos set with pearls, ruby-encrusted snuffboxes, diamond tiepins. A sapphire necklace was spreadeagled on a red velvet cushion, just begging for a fine white neck to wear it. An emerald ring glistened in an ebony box like a winking eye.

  ‘Where did you pinch all these from?’ I asked, aghast.

  ‘Pinch? You think I stole these, do you, Cat?’ He leant against the door, blocking my exit.

  ‘Course I do.’

  ‘I won’t deny that some came to me strangely cheap from irregular sources, but I buy them above board, all fair and square.’

  I raised an eyebrow.

  He grinned. ‘Well, perhaps I don’t ask enough questions, but I never stole none of these, I swear, your worship.’ He saw where my eyes were resting. ‘Try it on.’

  Before I could refuse, he put the sapphire necklace around my throat and held up a mirror so I could inspect it. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, though the stones felt cold against my skin. I shivered.

  ‘Look, it suits you, Cat. You were born to wear fine stuff, anyone can see that. Your father must ’ave ’ad blue blood, even if your mother was a harlot.’

  I pulled it off my neck, feeling sullied that I’d half fallen for the lure of all these garish treasures.

  ‘Easy with that!’ Billy chided, taking the necklace from me and laying it reverently back on its pillow.

  ‘So, you’ve got a lot of rocks, Billy. What’s that to do with me?’

  He rubbed his chin, gazing around him like a painter trying to decide where next to place his brush. ‘It’s a fine collection, I grant you, but I feel it lacks something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I want the Crown jewels.’

  ‘Oh yeah, pull the other one, it’s got bells on,’ I laughed hollowly.

  ‘Nah, I’m deadly serious, Cat. I want you to get me the Crown jewels. I’m a reasonable man – I don’t ask for all of ’em, just something to put in that space . . . there!’ He pointed to a gap in the middle shelf occupied by an empty cushion.

  ‘You are joking?’

  He shook his head. ‘You gave your word, Cat. You said you’d do anything to ’elp your African friend.’

  I gulped. He was purposely setting me an impossible task. He had to have a reason.

  ‘Isn’t there something else I could do?’

  ‘I like collectin’, Cat: jewels, money, people . . .’

  ‘You really should get out more, Billy –’

  ‘If you don’t get me wot I want, you’ll ’ave to take its place.’ He placed the lock of hair on the cushion.

  ‘You’re a sick man, Billy, very sick.’ My knees were trembling. I wasn’t sure if he meant he wanted a bit of me carved off and put up there like a fetish belonging to some savage tribe of Captain Cook’s, or whether he meant he wanted me as a permanent guest in his house. A possession. Knowing Billy, both were possible and I didn’t want to find out the answer.

  He just smiled.

  I looked down at my skirts. I’d forgotten to keep the raspberry stain hidden – the blot taunted me, reminding me of my failings. ‘All right, damn you! I’ll get you your Crown jewel even if I have to rob the king myself. How long do I have?’

  Billy picked up the candelabra. ‘’Ow long do you think you’ll need before you decide?’

  He meant before I decided if I was going to join his little collection.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I said irritably, hating him for this. He loved humiliating me. ‘Till the end of the summer, I s’pose.’

  ‘Fair enough. Your cushion will be waitin’ by my fireside for the autumn then, Kitten.’

  ‘Don’t call me Kitten.’

  He ushered me out and pulled the bell cord. ‘You know, I always wanted a pet,’ he said in a conversational tone. ‘Somethink to come ’ome to.’

  ‘Something to kick when you get angry, you mean.’

  ‘That too.’ His hand darted out and stroked my hair before I had time to duck. ‘Looks better now it’s grown again. You’re turnin’ out all right after all.’

  ‘Shame the same can’t be said for you,’ I said quickly, batting his hand away.

  He gave me a superior smile. ‘Well, I don’t need looks, do I? Not when I’ve got power. But you, what else ’ave you got to fall back on now they’re closin’ the theatre?’

  ‘Brains, Billy, brains, as you once told me. Keep the cushion; I’m taking no place at yours or anyone’s fireside any time soon.’

  The butler appeared at the door to show me out. I paused on the threshold.

  ‘Oh, and Billy?’

  He was locking the door to his strongroom again. ‘Yeah, cherub?’

  ‘I’d sack the elocution teacher if I were you. It’s pissing in the wind to think you can learn to speak properly.’

  With that, I made a fast exit and showed myself out on to the street.

  I set off in a mad dash across town to prevent Syd and Pedro bringing the rest of the Butcher’s Boys to my rescue. Having started the day with a relatively creditable appearance, I was ending it in a crumpled mess, stained with raspberry and besmirched with dust. But the deepest soil on me was the feeling I had carried away from Billy’s white room – that wouldn’t wash off. He had an unhealthy obsession about me. I had the impression that getting me as part of his kingdom had come to represent the final proof that he had conquered the world. While I still existed, rude and irreverent, he would always feel his lowly origins dragging him down. If I failed to fulfil my part of the bargain, as seemed all too likely, I would have been proved as fallible as all his other minions, someone he could control. To him I’d be part of his menagerie of tame bullies and thieves.

  ‘Never,’ I swore to myself as I turned into the alley leading to the back of the shop. ‘I’ll leave London before I let that happen to me. Exile must be better than being enslaved to Billy.’

  ‘Bloody ’ell, Cat, you ’ad us that worried!’ shouted Syd
as I burst into the yard.

  Pedro threw aside the cudgel he had been holding and gave me a hug. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘He didn’t harm you?’

  ‘No. It was like I told you – he just wanted to swap insults.’

  The boys relaxed their warlike stances. Syd grinned. ‘I bet you gave ’im what for, eh, Cat?’

  ‘Yeah, I think I came out on top.’ For now, at any rate.

  I proceeded to entertain them with an edited version of my call on Billy, leaving out all reference to our deal. They were highly amused to hear about his attempts to pass himself off as a gentleman.

  ‘I don’t know who ’e thinks ’e’s foolin’,’ marvelled Nick, Syd’s second-in-command. ‘Billy’s as refined as horse-dung.’

  Jo the Card bowed before me and produced a posy of flowers from up his sleeve. ‘To our Cat, Insulter Extraordinaire to the Prince of Darkness.’

  I smiled, though this felt too near the knuckle to be truly funny. ‘Thanks, Jo, but I’ll relinquish the position to anyone who wants it. It’s not my idea of fun to spend the day with the Boil.’

  ‘I’ll take it over,’ growled Syd. ‘And before ’e ’as a chance to open ’is gob, I’ll shove ’is teeth down the back of ’is throat.’

  ‘Well, you’d be doing him a favour – it’s either you or the tooth-puller from what I saw. Gilded dung, that’s what he is. Rotten to the core.’

  ‘Right then,’ said Syd, pushing up his sleeves. ‘As there’s no call now to rescue Cat, I think we all deserve a pint. Let’s go to the Jolly Boatman.’

  His boys all rose eagerly and filed out into the alley, laughing and whistling in anticipation of a good night out. Hoping no one had noticed, I started to follow.

  ‘Nah, not you, Cat,’ said Syd gently, hooking me by the arm as he spotted me trying to blend in with the crowd. ‘You know the Boatman is no place for a respectable girl. I’ll walk you ’ome.’

  I too was feeling thirsty after a long hot day. Surely just a very little drink of something would do no harm? Why did I always have to miss out on the fun? ‘But Syd, if I stick with you, I’d be all right,’ I protested.

  ‘Nah, Kitten.’

  ‘Why not? Have you got a girlfriend waiting for you or something? Are you too embarrassed to be seen with me in your company?’

  He shook his head. ‘Leave it. Let’s not argue now. I’m off soon – I don’t want to part from you with a quarrel.’

  I subsided. Perhaps Nick wouldn’t be so strict about not letting girls join the gang while Syd was away? Maybe I’d only have to wait a few days?

  Syd patted my wrist. ‘I’ve asked Nick to keep an eye on you while I’m gone – to make sure you don’t do anythink stupid.’

  What was Syd now? A mind-reader?

  ‘No, Syd, I won’t.’

  ‘Stay out of trouble, won’t you?’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘And when trouble finds you out – ’ I laughed: he knew me too well to think I’d have a problem-free summer ‘ – don’t forget that any of me boys are sworn to protect you. You can call on any of ’em, night or day.’

  ‘Stop fussing, you old woman, you,’ I chided.

  We had arrived at the back door to the theatre. Syd squeezed my hand once and let it go.

  ‘Goodbye, Cat.’

  ‘Goodbye, Syd.’ I felt strangely bereft, realizing that the straw-haired giant before me, my most faithful friend, was leaving me for the first time ever. So much was changing. Unbidden, a tear broke free and escaped down my cheek.

  ‘Sorry,’ I sniffed, embarrassed to show my weakness. I didn’t want anyone to know how scared I was, least of all Syd who had never been afraid of anything.

  ‘Don’t be sorry, Cat, never be sorry.’ He reached out to wipe the tear away. There was a strange look in his blue eyes. Suddenly, he bent forward, gave me a quick kiss on the lips, turned tail and left.

  * A gentleman is born, not made.

  SCENE 3 – EXEUNT OMNES

  The next time I saw Syd was on the morning of his departure. Both of us avoided each other’s eye as we mingled with the crowd that had gathered to see him off. My lips felt as if they were still burning – my cheeks certainly were – though I tried to behave as normal. Syd moved among his friends, shaking hands, cracking jokes, but something about the set of his shoulders told me that he was acutely aware of my presence wherever I was standing. We knew each other too well, having been together for as long as I could remember: both of us realized that everything had changed with that kiss. Today was the first time more than a square mile would come between us. His decision to leave London had stripped off the cosy covers of our relationship, leaving me shivering in the cold light of day as I took stock of where we had reached.

  ‘All right, Cat? Look after yourself,’ Syd said, reaching me last.

  ‘I will.’

  ‘I hope the move to the new theatre goes well.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  I risked raising my gaze to his face. His eyes were saying much more than his words, but he gave me a perfunctory shake of the hand before climbing up on the carriage beside Mick Bailey, his manager. Part of me ached for a hug; part of me was glad he’d left it at that.

  With a flick of the whip, Syd bowled off west in Bailey’s high two-wheeler to the cheers of the people of Covent Garden.

  ‘Punch ’em to kingdom come, lad!’ yelled his father as his termagant of a mother wept into a white handkerchief.

  I stood among Syd’s boys. They gave three cheers as the carriage turned the corner. Their leader rose in his seat, waved his cap to us and was gone. Sad though I was to see him leave, I was in some ways relieved. His brief kiss had forced me to see what I had, I now realized, purposely been closing my eyes to: Syd loved me. I could never just be one of the boys to him. He didn’t want me in his gang because he thought he might have other plans for us when we both came of age.

  I found the thought terrifying. I didn’t feel old enough to consider marriage and family seriously. Though never exactly sure of the year of my birth, I guessed I was about thirteen or fourteen. Many girls from Covent Garden of my age had paired up by now; some poor souls already had babies hanging on their skirts, despite being barely out of childhood themselves. We all know we don’t get long on this earth – death a daily occurrence where I come from. Most of us will be dead by twenty-five, probably in the course of bringing into the world another orphan like me to shift for herself, but even so, I wasn’t in a hurry. I knew Syd would want to wait until we could get properly married and do the decent thing, but that wasn’t far off now. A couple of years and I could be Mrs Fletcher. Help. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want a life of babies and washing and shopping and cooking and cleaning. I wanted to stay in the theatre. I wanted to write. I wanted to be free. I wanted to marry for love.

  Don’t get me wrong, Reader: I do love Syd. He is the best, the most honourable boy I know. But marry him!

  Stop the pen right there. I’m getting carried away, jumping from a kiss to wedding vows. Let us return to business before I get any more foolish ideas.

  I arrived back at the theatre to find the place humming with excitement.

  ‘What’s going on, Caleb?’ I asked the doorman. He shifted along and patted the bench beside him. ‘It’s the list, Cat. Mr Kemble said it’d go up today.’

  ‘What list?’

  ‘The master . . .’ (he meant Mr Sheridan) ‘asked Mr Kemble to work out who the company could take with them to the new theatre. There’s going to be blood spilt later, or my name’s not Caleb Braithwaite.’

  I felt as if I had just stumbled into a pothole in the dark. I hadn’t known about this, though I should have guessed.

  ‘What about you, Caleb? Do you know if you’re going to be on it?’ I felt very afraid for him: the King’s Theatre was certain to have a doorman in residence. What would an old sailor like Caleb do? He had no family I’d ever heard of and I had known him all my life.

  ‘Nay, lass, I won’t be
on that list. Drury Lane is my home. I ain’t going nowhere.’

  ‘But Caleb, don’t you know what’s going to happen to this place?’

  He gave me a sad smile. ‘Aye, Cat. Don’t you fret about me: Mr Kemble and his sister have said they’ll see that I’m all right and they’ve been as good as their word. The old widow who keeps the cookshop in Gerrard Street said she could do with a man to watch the place.’ He leant closer and whispered conspiratorially, ‘That means Mr Kemble has paid her to give me a post at the fireside but doesn’t want to hurt me pride by telling me so.’ Caleb chuckled. ‘Old age is a terrible thing, Cat. I’m proud, but not that proud. I’ll sit and guard Widow King’s pastries for her.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it.’ I breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Old age is bad, but being a young maid with no family ain’t that much fun either, Cat. What will you do with yourself? I don’t want our Cat to fall into bad company like so many wenches do.’ His cloudy blue eyes were full of concern.

  ‘Oh, I’ll be fine, Caleb,’ I said brightly. ‘I’m hoping my name will be on that list – and if not, well, I’ll cross that bridge when . . . if it comes.’ I was not encouraged to see that he looked doubtful. There was no immediate riposte of ‘Of course you’ll be on it, Cat.’ He for one thought I was not indispensable to the company.

  ‘It’s here. The list’s here!’ Long Tom, a stagehand, bellowed from the Green Room. There was a stampede of feet from all directions, screams and cries as actors, dancers, stage crew, labourers, scene painters, carpenters and front of house staff all converged backstage. I sat for a moment – too terrified to look, yet knowing I had to.

  ‘Do you want me to find out for you?’ asked Caleb gently. He must think me a coward for hesitating so long.

  ‘No, no, I’ll do it, thanks.’ I patted his gnarled hand and stood up. Feeling as if time had slowed down to crawling pace, I made my way to the Green Room.