Cat's Cradle (6 page)

‘Dinner's ready!'

Nick, Syd's dark-haired second-in-command in the Butcher's Boys, chucked the towel to Joe and strode over. Lifting me by the waist, he swung me round.

‘Cat Royal! I was beginnin' to think we'd never see you again!' He set me down and looked me over. Long-limbed and slender, he loomed over me these days. ‘I do believe . . . no, it can't be true . . .'

‘What?' I looked down at myself, half expecting to see some fault in my clothing. ‘What's wrong?'

Nick, eyes shining with mischief, beckoned Joe ‘The Card' Murray. The street magician sloped over, his raggedly dandified jacket flapping open to display the ribbons he hawked. Nick nudged him, nodding to me.

‘What you say, Joe?'

Joe scratched his chin. A little older than the rest of the gang, he had fine lines around his mouth and eyes; his long, brown hair fell about his face, giving him a gypsy-like appearance. I would've found him a little frightening if I hadn't known him nearly all my life.

‘I can't believe it – but you're right, Nick. Stone me, but you're right!' Joe exclaimed.

Now I was getting worried. ‘
What?
'

‘You've . . . you've grown, Cat,' Nick said with mock-solemnity, as if announcing my demise.

‘At least, oh, I'd say . . . 'alf an inch?' agreed Joe.

I swatted Joe on the arm. ‘I've grown much more than that, I'll have you know. I'm almost five foot.' I stood on tiptoe, hoping they wouldn't notice. My diminutive height was becoming a bit of a burden now that I was old enough to be almost my full size.

‘'Ave you been usin' one of Tailor Meakin's measurin' rods, Cat?' asked Nick. ‘'E always makes 'is stuff too short.'

‘No, I haven't,' I huffed. ‘I've grown – I have.'

‘Course you 'ave, but you'll never see five foot and you know it,' teased Nick.

‘She might – if I lend 'er me box to stand on,' said Joe.

I wondered bleakly for a moment if I had my long-lost mother to blame for all these quips about my half-pint status. I'd been quite proud of the inches I'd put on over the last year, but I'd forgotten that all my friends had been sprouting up too. It was a catch-up race I was never going to win.

Nick must've noticed my expression. ‘Aw, Cat, don't take on so. You've growed up fine. No one could find a fault with you. We were just pullin' your leg.'

‘Yeah, and if you let us do that, you might stretch a bit too,' mumbled Joe.

Nick thumped him in the ribs. ‘Stop it.'

My lips curled into a reluctant smile at this familiar byplay among the gang. We all teased each other mercilessly; I shouldn't have let it get to me. I returned to the fray.

‘So, Nick, how's the maid at Mr Gleeman's?

Fallen for your unusual sense of fashion yet?' Nick was well known for being the scruffiest lad in the market – quite an achievement.

A faint blush lit his cheek. ‘'Ow d'you know about Mary?'

‘I know everything – don't you remember?' In fact Syd had confided this bit of gossip to me over tea. ‘I'm sure she'll think you quite the original.' Giving him a wide grin, I turned to my next victim. ‘And Joe, been bamboozled by any country bumpkins recently?'

‘That was nothink! 'E wasn't what 'e seemed. The cards were marked. Put up to it by the boys, 'e was –'

‘Yes, as a kind of birthday present to you, I understand.' I patted his arm consolingly. ‘Don't worry, there's always knife-grinding if you're losing your touch.'

‘Losin' my touch! Now see 'ere, Cat Royal, I'm at the top of my game, I am.'

‘I'm sure you are.'

‘Knife-grindin'! I ask you!'

‘Someone has to do it.'

Joe began muttering about cheeky little redheads until he caught my amused expression.

‘Still pleased to have me back?' I asked, leading the way into the kitchen.

‘Too bleedin' right we are,' he said, rumpling my hair just to annoy me.

Nick and Joe were on their best behaviour in Mrs Fletcher's kitchen – they dared not be otherwise. Thanks to this, I learned much of the regular news about goings-on in the market. Aside from the usual gossip, I was distressed to hear that a number of the nippers had succumbed to smallpox last winter – a terrible loss.

Joe, whose skin was pockmarked from surviving the disease, changed the subject quickly.

‘Seen the new theatre yet, Cat?'

‘No.' I turned eagerly towards him. ‘How is the work going?'

‘Been a rare old scandal. Load of Irish comin' in to do the porterin' – bad feelin' all round. Caused a few fights. Your Mr Sheridan ain't the most popular man in these parts just now.'

Syd pushed his chair back from the table. ‘Don't bend 'er ear about that, Joe. It's not 'er fault. So, 'ow you want to celebrate your return, Cat?'

I shrugged. What I really wanted to do was spend a night out with the gang but Syd would never let me.

‘'Ow about a night out with us lot?' he suggested. My jaw dropped. ‘There's an apprentice ball at the Crown 'n' Anchor – a rum do, but might be fun.'

I jumped up. ‘I'll get changed.'

‘I'll take that as a “yes” then?'

But I was up the stairs and away.

My best gown, a green silk taffeta with gold trimming – another hand-me-down from Lizzie – was hopelessly creased from my travels but I didn't care. Pulling on a clean white petticoat and stockings, I shook it out and strained to do up the back (Lizzie, of course, had always had a maid to help her with this). It crossed my mind briefly that it might be too fine for the Crown and Anchor, but I pushed the thought aside as I put on my white
slippers. Pausing in front of the mirror, I pondered whether or not to wear my cat necklace; a gift from Billy. I decided against it, not least because I didn't feel up to the debate with Syd as to where it had come from. Fresh ribbon threaded into my hair, white kid gloves on – and I was ready.

With Syd on one side and Nick on the other, Joe just behind, we made a merry party as we headed for the Strand. The Crown and Anchor had a famous ballroom, big enough to hold several thousand people. Though often hired out by the rich for fancy parties during the season, the owner allowed us common folk in when custom was sparse – like now. He knew he couldn't survive on just the few months when the blue bloods deigned to come to town – he needed us and we knew it. So it was with no feelings of inferiority that we paid at the door to dive into the festivities beyond.

A top-notch orchestra had been hired for the evening. I realized this because I could see my old friend from Drury Lane, Peter Dodsley, playing first violin. Lines of couples were already engaged in a vigorous country dance, thumping
on the floor boards, making the whole building shake. Apprentices swung shopgirls around with enthusiasm provoking squeals and laughter, footmen bowed to curtseying upper-maids with all the dignity of their masters and mistresses, and a few drunks staggered through the throng, getting in everyone's way. Skirts twirling, voices shouting to be heard over the music, dust flying – this was my kind of party.

Waiters wove between those standing around the edges, serving ale and punch. One paused in front of us.

‘Drink, Cat?' asked Syd.

‘I'd rather dance.'

With a grin at Nick and Joe, he took my hand and we joined the end of a set. As we spun through the steps, I kept glimpsing old friends from the gang. Those I met in the course of the dance all had a kind word and welcome. After a day of upsets, it felt good to be home again.

The orchestra took a much-needed rest at the end of the second set and I made my way over to Peter. He was looking his usual, immaculate self –
a perky carnation adorning his lapel, floppy blond hair drooping artistically over one cheek. I admired his new signet ring – a gift from an admirer, he confessed – and we were soon talking nineteen to the dozen, catching up on all the gossip.

Nick appeared at my shoulder and gave Peter a wary nod. ‘Cat, may I 'ave this dance?'

I glanced at Peter, only to see him picking up his bow again. ‘No rest for the wicked,' he said with a smile.

But Nick had misunderstood my hesitation. ‘It's all right – I checked with Syd. 'E said I could.'

I slipped off the orchestra podium. ‘You did what?'

‘Asked 'im if 'e minded.'

‘Why would he mind?'

Nick just shrugged and led me out on to the dance floor. I didn't really need him to answer: I could guess. Without me saying or doing anything, the boys had all just assumed Syd and I were now courting. I couldn't blame Nick for erring on the side of caution – Syd had a punch that could land him in the next county – but still it was annoying
to find myself wrapped up and labelled as Syd's girl. I noticed from then on that all my partners were carefully selected members of the Butcher's Boys. Syd was doing a grand job of managing my evening for me, except for my temper –
that
was simmering quite out of his control.

The dancing broke up for supper at eleven. Syd found me a table and got one of his boys to bring me a plate.

‘Enjoyin' yourself?' he asked, digging into his cold meats with renewed appetite after all that dancing.

I thought it churlish to complain in front of his boys. We needed a private conversation to sort a few things out – not a public row. ‘Yes. It is wonderful to see everyone again.'

‘We can come again next week, if you like.' Syd turned away before I could answer to shake hands with an acquaintance who had stopped by our table to pay his respects. When he sat down again, I leant closer.

‘I might not be here next week, Syd.'

Syd undid the top button of his waistcoat and
stretched out in his chair. ‘Got another invitation so soon? Somethink to do with Mr Sheridan, I s'pose.'

‘No . . . well, yes. In a way. I'm going to Scotland.'

Syd guffawed. ‘That's a good 'un. Just arrived and now off to Scotland. Elopin' to Gretna Green?'

I rolled my eyes. ‘Don't be daft. And I'm being serious. I'm going to Lanark.'

He snapped into his alert, fight-ready demeanour. ‘You're not.'

I tilted my chin. ‘I am.'

‘I won't let you – not so soon after you got back.'

‘You can't stop me – you've no right to stop me.'

‘'Aven't I?'

Oh, Lord, we
were
having the conversation despite my best intentions. Fortunately the others at our table were too busy watching a crowd of newcomers to pay much attention to us.

‘You don't understand, Syd.'

‘No I don't, Cat.' He reached out and took my hand. ‘I thought you'd come 'ome to me.'

‘I know you did. And I did, in a way – just not
that
way.'

His grip tightened. ‘So what's takin' you to Scotland? Is there someone else?'

‘Blimey, Syd, you've a suspicious mind!'

‘Tell me.'

My hand was now protesting so I slipped it free.

‘Look, Mr Sheridan got a letter.' I quickly sketched out the events of the day, sparing no detail about the dubious motives of my so-called relatives.

Syd moved his hand to cover mine again, but this time to comfort. ‘Sorry, Kitten, I didn't realize. That must've been quite a shock.'

Trust Syd to understand how hurt I had been.

‘Yes, it wasn't very pleasant. I'd had all these dreams, you see: perfect mothers and wonderful fathers, but the reality looks rather . . . rather sordid. Odds are they're just after money. The joke is, they think I've got some.'

‘Better if they'd left you alone.'

‘Perhaps.'

He gave my hand a businesslike tap. ‘Then
leave it. She ain't 'ad a reply for a year. She'll 'ave forgotten all about it and you should too. You've family 'ere now.'

I looked down at his calloused knuckles. ‘I know.'

He tipped my chin up with his free hand, forcing me to meet his eyes. ‘I understand, you know. About you and me, I mean. You needn't worry I'm goin' to go all queer on you.'

I closed my eyes briefly then attempted a smile. ‘Thank you.'

‘Do you think you'll change your mind?'

With a tiny gesture that committed me for the rest of my life, I shook my head.

‘Too much of a brother to you, eh?'

I nodded. ‘Something like that.'

‘That's not what a boy wants to 'ear. Fatal words. Can't even complain because it means you still care for me, don't it?'

‘So much that it hurts like the blazes knowing I'm disappointing you. If I could make myself different, I would –'

He stopped me with a finger on my lips. ‘No.
No tryin' to change into somethink you're not. I think I always knew it was a long shot. I'll just 'ave to learn to live with it.' He swallowed. ‘Move on. It's just that I've always thought that you and me . . .' He stopped because he saw that he was making me cry. ‘'Ave a drink, Cat. Then we'll do some more dancin', all right?'

‘All right.'

Nick turned round and nudged Syd in the ribs. ‘Bleedin' cheek if you ask me . . .' He tailed off when he noticed my expression. ‘What's wrong with Cat?'

‘Nothink,' said Syd gruffly, covering for me. He was the master at coming back from a knockout blow. ‘Who's got cheek?'

‘Them Irish geezers, comin' into our ball as if they own the place.'

I looked over to the far corner of the supper room and saw a group of strangers clustered around the punchbowl. There were seven men and one tall female a few years older than me. I guessed that they were related because they all had the same black hair and strong features, even the girl.
Dressed in ragged finery, they were obviously not from one of the better areas in the neighbourhood.