The Middle Passage (Cat Royal)

by Golding, Julia

  ‘How lovely.’ Madame Aubert picked up her embroidery again. She for one took the news with complete calm–I would wager the box office takings at Drury Lane that she was ignorant of any plot by her children. ‘We wish you plain sailing, Miss Royal.’

  I rose, signalling the end of the visit. Our message was passed; now we had to wait the result. ‘Thank you. I pray you excuse me: I am heading down to the port this evening to go aboard and I must pack.’

  The rest of the company got to their feet. Charles showed us to the door, promising Peter to call by later with the new books he had retrieved from the latest consignment.

  ‘Impressions?’ I asked as we drew far enough away to talk without being overheard.

  Peter rubbed his chin. ‘I’m not sure, Miss Royal. Charles and Albert were interested to hear that you were departing–and annoyed by the announcement–but I still hard to imagine them arranging such a spiteful theft. They are my friends.’

  I noticed he did not say good friends.

  Rachel tugged my arm. ‘Anna-Maria was furious. She hates anyone stealing the thunder from her brothers–she thinks of them as gods.’

  Peter raised his eyes to heaven in mock appeal. ‘Oh why, oh why, did I not get a younger sister like that?’

  Rachel batted him in the stomach–he let out an obliging ‘oof!’. ‘Because you don’t deserve it.’

  Mabel frowned. ‘Charles must know something–he was gloating about the telescope, wasn’t he?’

  I agreed, but felt there was something I was missing–other than Billy, of course: his absence still rankled. ‘All we can do now is wait until this evening. Please make sure you have witnesses from the household posted to keep an eye on my luggage. I will make sure everyone knows where I stow your letter when we say our farewells. I want to make this easy for them.’

  Our little pantomime began as twilight gathered over the island, staining the sky with a fantastical display of salmon red clouds and molten fire on the horizon. The actress in me rejoiced in the suitably dramatic set the Good Lord had painted for me. I kissed the girls and curtsied to Peter, then took the letter from Mabel and made sure everyone see me place it at the top of my little valise.

  ‘That should do it,’ I whispered to Mabel. ‘All your servants and a good many others on the lane saw where it went. If the gossip chain works as effectively as you think, this will be no secret by the time I arrive at the bottom of the steps.’

  As part of our act, the Flanders siblings appeared to stay at home, consigning me to the escort of a stout male servant and maid for the hot walk down. They had offered me the service of a local burro–the preferred means of transport for ladies–but I decided that the presence of a donkey would only complicate the scenario so refused. I regretted that halfway down as the perspiration began to gather on my brow.

  Come on, Cat Royal, I berated myself, you survived malaria–a little walk will not kill you. And you’re not even carrying your own luggage.

  We arrived at the dockside–a busy scene compared to the cool peace of the wealthy heights. Barrels and coils of rope lay on every spare patch of land. Seagulls pecked at fish scraps, screeching their raucous calls like the audience at a bawdy play. Sailors walked or staggered by, depending on their level of inebriation, one bellowing out a sea shanty with the most shocking words I’d ever heard. This was not a place for a decent girl to linger for long but I rather liked it. I’d certainly pick this over another morning call in a rich merchant’s drawing room.

  ‘Please put my box there,’ I ordered the manservant, ‘and then go and enquire for a boat to take me out to my ship.’

  ‘Are you sure, Miss?’ the man asked, thinking that he had better stay to protect the two damsels in his care.

  A dose of sensible was exactly not what the doctor ordered at the moment. ‘Yes, I am quite sure. I will stand by the customs office here. No harm can come to us.’

  The maid and the manservant exchanged an exasperated look, doubtless thinking the visitor was hopelessly naive. This pleased me as that was exactly the impression I wanted to create–I had to be an easy mark for anyone wanting to steal the letter.

  ‘I won’t be long then, Miss. Don’t move from this spot.’ He touched his cap and hurried off.

  How long would it take our French thieves to make their move, I wondered. To help them take the bait, I engaged the maid in an animated conversation about the latest London fashions, turning my back on my box. I had to hope no other alert criminal made a move to nab it before the ones we wanted to catch summoned up their nerve.

  When they made their play, it was executed with more panache than I had expected. It began with a man jostling me to the ground in a pretended drunken lurch. The maid screeched, hissing Portuguese curses at the man that she thought I did not understand. Our disreputable drunk apologized extravagantly, helping me to my feet and kissing my hand in mock contrition. With most people this might have been taken at face value, but I recognized it as one of the oldest tricks in the book. I was therefore not surprised when a whistle blew behind us. The drunkard stumbled round, took stock of the scene and loped off as fast as he could. Peter was restraining a man in the very act of rifling through my possessions; Rachel was the owner of the very shrill whistle, bringing attention to us. Mabel had rushed in to the customs house to summon an official. In a very short time, the man was under arrest, a messenger sent for Mr Flanders, and we were all escorted within the building to clear up the business.

  But what I neglected to tell you, dear Reader, was that I did not recognize the thief at all. Perhaps it had been unwise of me to expect Charles and Albert to have done their own dirty work, but we were left with another layer of mystery to solve with this stranger on our hands. Obviously a local from his Portuguese expressions of innocence and sunburnt complexion, I guessed we had caught ourselves a hired hand, not the mastermind of this plot against the Flanders.

  Mr Flanders came rushing in with the Angra equivalent of the magistrate, a grey-haired, puffed-up representative of the law.

  ‘Are you all unharmed?’ Mr Flanders asked, patting Rachel down as if she had just survived a carriage accident.

  ‘No harm done, Papa,’ she assured him, her eyes sparkling with enjoyment at this excitement in their usually humdrum life.

  ‘Then WHAT WERE YOU DOING DOWN HERE AT THIS TIME OF NIGHT!’ he bellowed.

  Parents–don’t you just love them? Get furious when their children had been quite splendid. I wished I had a father to bellow at me for taking a risk. I had to make do with a set of over-protective friends.

  ‘Father, we think we’ve caught one of our thieves,’ Peter said calmly. He then explained the bait without naming the ones we suspected. ‘All we need do now is find out whom this man is working for.’

  We all turned to the man sitting on a bench surrounded by burly customs officers. He folded his arms and shook his head.

  ‘Didn’t do nothing,’ he muttered in Portuguese (Mabel offered this translation unprompted but I’d got the gist from his demeanour).

  ‘Is this about your missing telescope?’ asked the magistrate.

  Mr Flanders nodded. ‘As far as I can gather. It appears my own children have been hatching plots without telling me.’

  ‘Oh, but I have the culprit in gaol as we speak. I picked him up last night. I am waiting for him to sign his confession. I thought I’d sent you word?’

  Mr Flanders shook his head. ‘I heard nothing of the sort. Who is it?’

  This couldn’t be right: both Charles and Albert were at large. We’d all seen them that very morning.

  ‘A very suspicious character, claiming to be a gentleman, but he was asking odd questions around the port, looking for someone interested in the purchase of a valuable telescope.’

  Oh, it couldn’t be! This would be too priceless for words.

  ‘His name isn’t Mr William Shepherd by any chance?’ I asked innocently.

  The magistrate turned on me. ‘You know him?’


  ‘Yes, we all do.’ I grinned. ‘I imagine he is none too happy to be sitting in your clink, is he?’

  The magistrate began to look worried that he had misjudged his man. I couldn’t reassure him that he was in general right, though on this one occasion in the wrong. ‘You can vouch for him?’

  ‘I can. He was asking questions because he was helping Mr Flanders find the telescope. He thought that the thieves would try and sell it down in the port to get it off the island as quickly as possible.’

  The magistrate tugged at his cravat. ‘Is this the truth?’ he asked Mr Flanders, hoping I was making this up.

  Mr Flanders frowned. ‘Yes, all true. Good Lord, Senor Carlo, I hope you haven’t wrecked my new business relationship with Mr Shepherd.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. I doubt he’d let a little thing like a night in gaol put him off profit,’ I said happily.

  ‘We’d better go and release him at once.’ The magistrate made to leave.

  I cleared my throat. ‘Had we better not deal with the thief at hand rather than the innocent one in the bush, so to speak. We need to know who is behind all this if we are to get the telescope back.’

  The man showed no more signs than before of confession. That was until Rachel approached him and tugged off his cap. She twirled it on a finger.

  ‘I recognize this man. He’s a groom at the Aubert house.’

  So it was the French boys then!

  ‘I also happen to know that he is a particular servant of Anna-Maria, responsible for teaching her to ride. She speaks of him often: he’s called Leo. Is that not right?’

  The man scowled but he did not contradict her.

  Anna-Maria? Was that possible? Now I thought about it, was it not more likely that the jealous little sister would move in defence of her brothers–she had motive and the theft would surely be beneath young men with pretensions to be gentlemen. I now had a good reason to be pleased that we had not scattered accusations around without evidence.

  Mr Flanders looked to the magistrate. ‘I think this had best be cleared up in the privacy of the Aubert home.’ He meant that he didn’t want public disgrace to be brought on the children of a neighbour if it could be avoided. ‘Let me take this man back to my house and I will call on Monsieur Aubert myself.’

  The magistrate took a moment to come to the same conclusion. ‘Let me know if you are going to press charges. I am ready to assist in any way I can. Now about my prisoner–’

  I stepped forward. ‘Please, sir, let me come with you and….’ Crow? No, I couldn’t say that. ‘And offer him consolation for his trouble.’

  Oh, the scene, the scene! Picture this, Reader, Billy sat on a miserable bench in a miserable cell, looking fit to spit nails for the injustice done him. And to think he had done this to others before: that made it just perfect for me.

  I had persuaded the magistrate to let me go in alone to unlock the door. I stood outside the cell, waiting for him to realize I was there. He appeared to be lost in the contemplation of the mouldy straw at his feet.

  ‘My, my, do I see a knight in distress. Never fear, the damsel is here to rescue him.’ I jingled the keys.

  Billy leapt to his feet. ‘That damned idiot locked me up!’

  I leaned against the wall. ‘I know.’

  ‘Stop grinning.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  Billy thumped the bars. ‘You are.’

  I shrugged. ‘Maybe just a bit.’

  ‘Let me out.’

  ‘In a minute.’

  ‘What are you waiting for?’

  ‘Just enjoying the moment.’

  He growled in his throat then realized he had to have me on his side–I had the key. ‘Let me out, Moggy.’

  ‘Say “please”.’

  He reached out a hand. ‘Please.’

  All right: I’d had my fun. He had been trying to help. I put the key in the lock and gave it a turn. He pushed the door open with a bang and grabbed me. Oops. I’d forgotten while teasing that he would soon be free.

  ‘I’m so angry, I could kiss you,’ he growled.

  ‘Don’t,’ I gulped.

  ‘Say “please”.’

  ‘Please don’t.’

  He finally saw the humour in the situation and let me go. ‘We make a fine pair, don’t we, Cat?’

  ‘Mabel thinks we’re like a quarrelsome brother and sister.’

  He knocked the straw from his hat. ‘She does?’

  ‘She also thinks you’re a suspicious sort. In that way, she has more sense than her father.’

  ‘God save me from clever chits,’ Billy grumbled.

  To ensure we arrived back at the Flanders house in style, the magistrate insisted we accept transport on two donkeys escorted by his best men. Mine was a stubborn beast that kept nipping the tail of Billy’s, but it was a good deal easier than walking.

  On our return, we discovered quite a scene in the drawing room. A tight-lipped man–Monsieur Aubert I gathered–had Anna Maria by the scruff of the neck, forcing a weeping apology from her as she handed over the missing notebooks.

  ‘I found these in her sewing basket,’ her father said in disgust.

  Charles and Albert came in carrying the dismantled telescope between them. ‘And we found this in a gardener’s shed.’ Charles put his part down and approached his friend. ‘We’re very sorry, Peter, we did not realize how our little sister had taken our rivalry to heart. We are both ashamed of her.’

  Anna-Maria began to weep even more noisily. I was torn between feeling a bit sorry for her and annoyance. If she had had the intelligence to think up such a plot, she could at least show more sense in accepting the blame. Where was the girl’s pride?

  After several more apologies, tinged with relief that the Flanders showed no inclination to involve the authorities, the French family departed, Anna-Maria marched off in their midst like a prisoner. I would imagine she might be studying the inside of her bedroom walls for quite a few days and a couple of servants reassigned to other duties away from her.

  ‘And now, Mr Shepherd, what can we do for you?’ asked Mr Flanders. ‘You too have suffered on our behalf.’

  ‘Draw him a bath and then you’re quits,’ I whispered to Rachel and Mabel.

  It was an unfortunate truth that the Angra gaol was not the most sweet-smelling of holiday destinations.

  Epilogue: Cat’s Comet

  The Dolphin was finally ready for sailing and we had reached our last evening in our very comfortable lodgings at the Flanders. The letter had become a real piece of scientific reporting thanks to the returned notebooks, and I had promised to make sure it was delivered by the fastest mail coach as soon as I landed in Liverpool.

  To mark our departure, the Flanders held a little gathering on their terrace, a celebratory supper. I hadn’t realized they had a surprise in store. Not the presence of Charles and Albert–they had been frequent visitors since the debacle over the stolen telescope, their rivalry muting into more healthy competition. I thought the male company was good for Peter; he had been less bookish since they had lured him out of his astronomy workshop. They had disappeared for whole nights, going for hikes with their inferior but much more portable telescope to stargaze at other points on the island. Mabel and Rachel had spent more time with each other as a result; I think Mabel had finally realized that her younger sister had more than fluff between her ears after her quick thinking at the Customs House. From the sisterly giggles that came from their bedroom, I guessed they were getting on much better and Mabel was even seen with a ribbon or two about her person, softening her bluestocking looks.

  No, the surprise they had for me was the very thing that had caused the whole adventure in the first place: the comet.

  Peter led me to the telescope. ‘Can you see it?’

  I squinted through the aperture. He assured me it had come much closer in the last few nights and even an amateur should be able to tell it apart from the stars. And yes, there it was–a white smudge in the sky.
Very faint.

  ‘How fast is it travelling?’ I asked, awed to be one of the first to see it.

  Mabel bent down beside me to hold back my hair that was in danger of obscuring my view. ‘Very fast.’

  ‘And how fast is that?’

  ‘At least a mile per second.’

  ‘Each second?’

  ‘Faster closer to the sun, like the point of release of a slingshot.’

  ‘That’s fast.’

  I stepped aside to let Billy, then the Aubert boys see the comet for themselves.

  ‘Did you read my letter?’ Mabel asked.

  ‘Of course not–it was sealed.’ Naturally, I had peeked under the flap but had only made out a list of numbers.

  Mabel was joined by Peter on one side and Rachel on the other. ‘Then you didn’t see the name we have asked for them to give our comet.’

  Billy was quicker than I to catch on. ‘What? You want it called the pain-in-the-neck comet? Or the little-redhead-should-have-been-drowned-at-birth comet?’

  I elbowed him in the stomach and everyone pretended not to notice.

  ‘No, nothing like that,’ said Peter gravely. ‘We have asked them to call it the Comet Royal. That should not raise any objections from the Astronomer Royal who will imagine we are doing him the honour…’

  ‘When all along it is another Royal we have in mind.’ Rachel grinned at me.

  I pressed my fingers to my lips to stop myself from emitting an embarrassing squeak.

  ‘I think she’s pleased,’ commented Billy. ‘If she’s deprived of speech, it’s usually a good sign. Long may it last!’

  ‘I’m in the heavens?’ I whispered.

  ‘Yes, you are immortalized as a lump of rock whizzing around the sun, here today and gone tomorrow–but coming back in all likelihood,’ Mabel said wryly.

  ‘Then I am most touched.’ I curtsied deeply. ‘I accept the honour.’

  And then I turned back to my comet, watching it sail at incredible speeds across the night sky. The Comet Royal: how totally splendid.

  Curtain Falls.