Mother Hopkins had said nothing, just scowled and sucked on her pipe. Cato had seen it all before. This was her way: she would think good and hard. Cato sighed as his head hit the pillow. They had spent so much cash and time on this lay. If they cut and ran now, there would be even more money to be found before Mother Hopkins could think about Bath.
He was drifting into sleep, imagining meeting Addy coming home from the Stapletons’ – surely she would be allowed home now – when the door creaked open and Mother Hopkins came in. Cato sat up suddenly.
‘I need a word,’ she said, and opened the curtain so that the first daylight came in.
‘With me, Ma? I know I met that Quarmy, but I thought he wasn’t quite watertight, so I said we couldn’t help, that we was too busy—’
‘Hush up, Cato. That young man’s problems aren’t what’s troubling me.’
Mother Hopkins looked out of the window at the city. She sighed. ‘I’ll miss this town and all that’s in it, and that’s the truth.’
‘But the Stapletons . . . they’ll be in mourning.’
‘Death is never an excuse to stop living, Cato.’ Mother Hopkins sat on the end of the bed. ‘And there is always better work to do than sleeping.’
‘I don’t understand, Mother. Tunnadine’s out of it.’ As Cato spoke the name, it seemed as if a shadow moved across Mother Hopkins’s face. He went on, ‘What I mean is, we’ve no inside man. Jack can’t do it – they think he’s a mute Russian – Sam can’t do it in case the Lady Elizabeth recognizes him . . .’
Mother tutted. ‘There’s always more than one way to skin a cat, or part a greedy man from his gold. Always see the opportunity, Cato, not the impediment. No doubt our Stapletons will come into a deal more cash. I know the old man had more holdings in West India than the Governor of the Bank of England himself . . .’
Cato made to speak but Mother put up her hand. ‘Rich people, greedy people, they never have enough goree. Even if they can furnish their houses with beaten gold, they’ll always want something more, especially if it seems like they’re cutting corners, getting something no one else has. That’s what we have to be giving them! And the way I see it, with young Sir John – or should I say, the new Marquess of Byfield – busy with sorting his father’s estate, we can cut straight to the chase, straight to the softest cheese in the dairy, in a manner of speaking.’
‘You mean the Lady Elizabeth?’ Cato asked.
Mother Hopkins nodded. ‘She’s the way in, and with her husband out of the picture Bella can wrap her around her little Russian finger. I thought about this . . . Bella’s so close to that Elizabeth, you couldn’t slide one of Addeline’s playing cards in between ’em. It’s too good an opportunity – we’re too close to the cash.’
‘But Lady Elizabeth won’t be interested in investments surely? From what Bella says she cares only for herself – how her hair is dressed, what to wear for which dance.’
‘Too right, Cato, too right.’ Mother Hopkins nodded. ‘She follows fashion closer than the starved crow follows the plough. And that’s how we’ll bait our hook.’
Cato was confused. He got up and put on his jacket for warmth.
‘Fashion,’ Mother Hopkins said. ‘The finest silks and satins, fresh from the east. So beautiful, so rare, so far ahead of the weavers of London or Paris with their patterns and their subtleties! I can see ’em now in my mind’s eye. Complete originals and all at knock-down prices!’
Cato smiled, bowed low and pretended to lay out a bolt of cloth. ‘Yes, madam – unrivalled quality, unparalleled beauty.’
Mother Hopkins nodded. ‘Thank you kindly, sir. I’ll have the lot!’
‘But are you sure that’ll make enough of a return, Ma: some cloth for dresses?’
‘We’ll make it enough. Oh, it won’t be no ordinary cloth – you wait and see. We’ll throw some jewels and gold in with the silks. And we’ll make the whole package too good to be true!’ she said. ‘And you know what else, Cato? I can see a way your friend can be a real help to us with this.’
‘He ain’t my friend. He believes in the natural order of things, I reckon, as his father makes more cash selling people than anything else.’
‘You don’t know that for certain, Cato. We can do each other a deal of good. He is a prince. The genuine article, not some faker. He can be our inside man.’
‘Mother, no! He can’t tell a lie to save his life, and he has such arrogance he’d never work for us!’ Cato protested. The thought of Quarmy helping them was too much to bear.
‘That’s what you’ll teach him,’ Mother said. ‘You’ll show him what he’s to do, tell him when to open his mouth and when to keep it shut. You’ll be his valet, you’ll be his brains. It’s ideal!’
‘But, Mother, you don’t know him. He’ll never listen to me – I am a mere peasant as far as he’s concerned. And I don’t know, Ma, but there’s something . . . something not right. Are you sure that Quarmy’s what he says he is? I mean, I know he talks flash . . .’
Mother Hopkins smiled. ‘Joshua knew what he was doing. Here.’ She took out a letter rolled up tight in her pocket. ‘Tunnadine wanted a manservant and Quarmy did the job. He lived with the boy – what you see is what you get.’ She put the letter back in her pocket.
‘I can see your worry, but don’t fret so, Cato. Quarmy needs hard cash, and he can earn it and do us a favour at the same time. I have no intention of running a scam against his old teacher or embroiling ourselves in more trouble than is necessary.’ Mother Hopkins stood up. ‘He is a prince! His father is a king! A king who trades with the east. Bella said the Lady Elizabeth is one for the fashion, for clothes and fripperies, and that’s the way to her pocket, I fancy.’ Her eyes came alive at the thought. ‘Oh, he’ll spin us tales and we can use that in so many ways. He’ll worm his way into Lady Elizabeth’s finances and we’ll have the Stapletons and the house in the west before the year is done! We have to make this lay the best we’ve ever set. We’ll be playing for our lives now, Cato. Just you remember that!’
CHAPTER NINE
A Sudden Change of Horses
CATO WALKED WITH Quarmy across Covent Garden Market and down towards the river. They were both wearing their best clothes. Quarmy was got up in a suit that reeked of wealth. It was, he said, the last one his father had had made for him and the only thing of value he’d taken from his trunk at school. Cato wore his Sunday best, which paled into insignificance next to Quarmy’s. His suit was now a little small around the armpits, and he thought that if he raised his arms, the seams would split. He patted his jacket pocket to make sure the cards Mother Hopkins had had newly printed were ready and waiting.
Mother Hopkins had told him to ‘open Quarmy’s eyes and give him as thorough an education in the trade of deceit as was possible’. The snow had now turned to slush and filth, yellow with horse pee in places and grey with dirt everywhere else. The traders – and there were fewer than usual on account of the weather – were packing up their empty baskets and loading truculent ponies, hooves bagged with sacking so as not to slip.
The boys crossed the Strand and followed an alley down to a set of stairs that led to the river, where the fair was still in full swing. Cato stopped.
‘I want one thing clear as crystal,’ he said. ‘There’s to be no commands. No do this, do that. Me an’ you are equals now.’
Quarmy rolled his eyes.
Cato went on, ‘I am not your subject, I am your teacher. Although how Mother Hopkins expects me to set you on the same road as all of us in just one day only the Lord himself knows, and that’s the truth.’
‘I can assure you it will come naturally to me,’ said Quarmy. ‘I was at the top of my class at school, and anyway, I do not need to know how to act like a prince, I am one already!’
‘You do not understand at all, Quarmy. What we do is not the real world. The real world is out there in the filthy streets. We are more than real, better than real. You need to be not just a prince, but more like what
somebody thinks a prince should be like.’
Quarmy looked confused. ‘You talk complete rot!’
Cato put his hand to his forehead. ‘Right, I’m talking rot, am I? How do you think we make our living? By doing good turns?’
‘Of course not!’ Quarmy said. ‘I know what the lot of you are – coney catchers, in the common canting tongue, though of course it pains me to use it.’
‘Shout it to the world, why don’t you? Look, Quarmy,’ Cato said. ‘Remember Bella at that dance? The Russian countess? Even you thought she was a proper nob, not some girl from Covent Garden dressed up to the nines.’
Quarmy said nothing.
‘You were fooled and no mistake!’
Quarmy looked slightly sheepish.
‘Anyway, there’s one more thing I want to ask you,’ Cato continued. ‘Your old man . . .’
‘Old man?’
‘Father . . . the king, or whatever it is you call him. He sells people, don’t he?’
‘I am not talking about this now: we will only argue. You don’t understand what it is like in Africa.’ Quarmy turned away.
‘I know one thing,’ Cato said. ‘I know people are all the same – black, white, old, young. We’re all greedy and we all don’t care about other people as much as we should. Just answer me. Your pa, he sells slaves?’
Quarmy squirmed. ‘My father, yes. But it is not that simple.’
‘If I lived in your country, I would overthrow your father and build a bloody great cannon to fire at the slavers,’ said Cato in disgust.
Quarmy laughed. He laughed all the way down to the river while Cato got more and more angry.
‘You are so young, Cato. Nothing can be solved that simply. As you say, people are greedy, and guns, on the whole, seem to make things worse because no matter how many guns we Africans have, the white men always have more.’
They had reached the ice. Cato looked around. He would have to calm down. Anger was useless when he was working – it got in the way of playing and schemes.
He took a deep breath. There was work to do.
‘This place is prime. Fairs always are – full of fancy and robbers and rogues and those with money burning holes in their pockets.’
‘So what do you propose?’ Quarmy asked.
‘First off we need to find ourselves a punter, a mark; someone whose face shows the greed inside, because – and this is our number-one rule – you cannot cozen an honest man . . . or woman for that matter. They’ll do half the work for you if they think you’re giving them something for nothing. You tell them how clever they are; how beautiful or gracious—’
‘Even if they are not?’
‘Yes, even if they are not. You have to be whatever they want you to be.’
‘But I am a prince!’
‘You worked for Master Tunnadine, didn’t you? You opened the door for him and played valet? Prince or slave, it’s no odds. Just button your lip and watch me.’ Cato turned away and started through the crowd. He muttered under his breath, ‘God strike me down if I can teach this one anything.’
‘But, Cato, don’t you find your conscience in any way troubled?’
Cato turned and faced Quarmy. ‘I am not the one whose livelihood is earned on the broken backs of slaves!’
‘You repeat yourself like a mewling child who has learned a new idea,’ Quarmy said arrogantly. ‘That bores me.’
Cato glared at him. ‘My conscience is clear. Like I said, we never take an honest man.’ He stopped suddenly. He thought of Edgar, the poor bridegroom, for a second. He would be over Bella by now, wouldn’t he? Sighing loudly, he led Quarmy through the crowd.
They’d just walked past the dancing bear and the hog roast when Cato spotted a young man wearing a particularly fine worsted jacket cut in the modern fashion. It was covered with silver embroidery and enough Dutch lace spilling out from the cuffs to make nightgowns for an entire Chelsea boarding school. Cato saw him watching an old lady wrapped up in woollens to keep out the cold; then he saw him help the woman over a slide in the ice as he cut and concealed the woman’s purse, smiling at her all the time.
‘See him?’ Cato nudged Quarmy in the ribs. ‘There, by the Spanish tumblers. For Christ’s own sake don’t stare! See how he moves? He is like us, watching for somebody.’ He turned away. ‘I have not seen that cutpurse in town before, and by the looks of him he is one that values both his appearance and his tailor.’
‘You will steal from the thief?’ Quarmy asked.
‘Not steal, sir, never steal. The trick is to get your quarry to hand over the goods willingly; to give you the goods or the cash with a grateful heart.’
Cato turned back to the cutpurse and watched as the young man’s eyes darted through the crowd before settling on a pair of shop girls carrying baskets of ribbons and fixings.
‘Engage those girls in conversation, quickly! And make it plausible,’ Cato said.
‘What? What should I say?’
‘Think on your feet, man! Put a smile on your face and be charming. Be more than charming, be regal. Tell them they shall be queens of the coast of Bonny! Make sure they know who you are.’
‘But—’
‘But nothing! And keep talking until I give you the say-so. Right, I will return with the cutpurse and when I do, remember this: just repeat the end of my sentence. So if I say “yes”, agree most uncommonly.’
‘And if you say no?’
‘Then you say no! Now, watch and learn, Quarmy, watch and learn.’
Cato sent Quarmy towards the girls and took out of his pocket the pick he carried with him just in case. Then he walked towards the young man, speeding up as he neared him until he ran into the cutpurse so hard he knocked him over. Cato made sure he fell too, and for a second while he rolled into him he hooked into the silver embroidery on the young man’s coat. Then he stood up, shouting curses into the crowd at the imaginary child who’d been so uncouth as to knock the pair of them down.
‘Blessed city urchins!’ Cato turned to the young man and helped him up, brushing him down and tugging at the embroidery a little more.
‘Are you unharmed? Please pardon me, I am not from these parts. I am a humble visitor, with my master, the Prince of Bonny,’ Cato said, indicating Quarmy.
‘I am unhurt. I think,’ the cutpurse said.
‘Oh, but your jacket! See the silver threads! They are undone here.’ Cato pointed at the back of the jacket, where he’d managed to pull a few threads loose in the tumble.
‘God’s teeth! No! This was but newly made!’ cried the man.
‘My master – my master could engage a tailor and put it right, no doubt. I do feel I am to blame.’ Cato bowed as humbly and as low as possible. ‘Let me enquire of the prince – he is a most gracious and generous master.’
Cato bowed again and led the way to where Quarmy was still making small talk with the shop girls.
‘Your Highness!’ Another bow. Quarmy smiled and nodded.
The shop girls giggled.
‘Ooh la! You are a prince, ain’t yer?’ said one.
‘He is an’ all,’ added the other.
Cato coughed. ‘Excuse me, sire. Unfortunately I have damaged this gentleman’s fine coat. See, the threads are loose.’ He plucked at them and they unravelled more, and the young man winced as they undid.
‘A very fine coat,’ Cato enthused. ‘Much like the one your father has purchased for you, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Indeed, quite so,’ Quarmy said with genuine disdain. Obviously the thought that a cutpurse could wear a similar jacket to a prince was irksome, thought Cato.
The young man looked at Quarmy and took him in. ‘You are, in truth, a prince?’
‘Of the most ancient and venerable Kingdom of Bonny,’ Cato said on Quarmy’s behalf, bowing exaggeratedly.
‘Is that some African isle?’ asked the young man.
Quarmy was haughtily dismissive. ‘Not an isle, sir, not an isle. An isle is surrounded by sea and thus, by
definition, small. Our land extends into the heart of the great continent of Africa itself.’
Cato smiled.
‘So you have coins enough to fix up my coat?’ the cutpurse asked.
‘It is but a trifle to the prince, sir,’ Cato said.
‘Of course. I mean my retainers to do no harm to the inhabitants of this . . . this small island,’ Quarmy said, and Cato had to struggle to keep his face from breaking into too wide a smile.
‘His Highness is staying in town . . . in St James’s Square.’ Cato pulled a card from inside his jacket. ‘His Highness’s card.’
The cutpurse took it and nodded. ‘A good address. I myself am newly come up to town from Bath.’
‘Bath?’ Quarmy said without being prompted. ‘I have long thought about a visit to take the waters.’
‘It would be a pleasure to instruct you on my home’s delights.’ The cutpurse bowed low. I bet it would, Cato thought. He could see the thief was imagining that this could be the beginning of a profitable friendship. The cutpurse took off his jacket and handed it to Cato.
‘Leave it with us,’ Cato said. ‘You may send your man round for it in the morning. Or indeed call yourself if you would wish and take some coffee.’
‘It would be my pleasure,’ Quarmy agreed.
‘You are too kind, too kind,’ said the man eagerly.
Cato bowed again and, keeping a tight hold on the coat, walked ahead of Quarmy through the crowd. After they had gone a little way he looked again and, when he was sure the man wasn’t watching, urged Quarmy into a run. The coat was heavy, and the embroidery exquisite. It was only unpicked a little and Bella could make it good in no time. Cato wished he could keep it rather than hand it over to Mendes, although he was bound to give them a most excellent price.
They reached The Vipers out of breath from running.
‘That was the most diverting morning I have spent for many weeks!’ Quarmy said.
‘That, Quarmy, is our life.’ Cato checked the street behind them. ‘And he has not followed us. Good.’
‘Good indeed! I think I may have enjoyed myself a little too much!’
A Nest of Vipers Page 9
