Den of Thieves (32 page)

‘I'm not going to do anything for you at all.'

His face clouded. ‘That's not wot we agreed. And besides, it ain't 'andsome of you, seein' as 'ow I've not forgotten you while you've been away. I did over that Tweadle fellow's pad while you were out
of town – put 'im out of business once and for all, I did.'

This confession momentarily diverted me from my purpose. I sat down heavily in a chair.

‘You did what?'

Billy cheered up again. ‘I knew you'd be grateful. Can't 'ave 'im takin' the profit from my girl, can I? 'Is shop mysteriously burnt down two weeks back. Strange 'ow fate works, eh?'

‘Is he all right?' I asked weakly.

‘As if you care!' snorted Billy.

‘Well, I can't say I care that much, but still, I don't want no one harmed for my sake.'

‘Aw, ain't you sweet.' Billy chucked me under the chin. I batted his hand away. ‘Nah, 'e got out with only 'is nightgown – a bit singed but 'e'll live.' Billy's eyes sparkled at the memory. ‘Ain't you even a bit grateful?'

I didn't know what to say. I wouldn't shed tears for the end of Tweadle's book emporium, but I didn't like Billy's assumption that he was master of my affairs. I now noticed that there was a pile of familiar cheap pamphlets on the window seat –
Billy had made sure he got the complete set before Tweadle's went up in smoke. He saw where my eyes were directed.

‘It seems there's money in your stuff. I's thinkin' that we could put together a proper book of 'em. All you need do is rewrite a few things 'ere and there. I'd pay for it to be done all fancy, gold tooled, the works, if you like.'

‘Oh yes?' I was now amused. ‘What exactly do you want me to rewrite?'

He took a chair opposite me. ‘Well, I 'ave me public to consider. You've not always been kind in your descriptions of our past dealings.'

‘You mean, like when you tried to cut my throat and when you kept Pedro locked up?'

‘That's the ones. Ah, 'appy days!'

I'd had enough. ‘Look, Billy, I didn't come here to bargain with you, nor to rewrite history.'

He smiled fondly at me. ‘Nah, I don't s'pose you did. You've come to be asked to be let off our little arrangement, ain't you?'

‘No, I have not.'

He raised an eyebrow.

‘I've come to tell you I've fulfilled it to the letter. Here's a piece of the Crown jewels as asked, direct from the king's own dressing table.'

I pulled the letter opener from my pocket and threw it contemptuously on the table between us. Billy reached out and picked it up, puzzled.

‘Wot's this?' He prodded the crest. ‘The diamonds look real, I grant you, but I don't want any old bit of glitter: I want the genuine article. Royal or nothing.'

‘And it is.' It was my turn to feel smug. ‘You didn't specify which royal family you meant when you set me the task, so I picked this up in King Louis's palace a few weeks back. That's his crest. So there you have it: a piece of the
French
Crown jewels for your collection. I've kept my promise. Your hold over me ends now.' I stood up. ‘Goodbye, Billy. I hope we never meet again.'

Billy's expression turned thunderous as his brain caught up with what I was telling him. His knuckles whitened as they clutched the handle of the knife. Time to make a quick exit.

‘Nah, you don't, Cat.' Billy leapt to the door
and held it closed. The knife wavered between us – perhaps it had not been the best choice of gift. ‘You can't walk out of 'ere like this!'

‘Why not?' Anger flared up inside me. Though afraid, I knew I was in the right. I'd kept my word; by the code of the street he'd have to admit it.

‘Because . . . because I want you 'ere with me.' He had a strange look in his eyes, half-desperate, half-threatening.

‘Sorry. I'd rather shovel horse dung for a living than stay under this roof with you. You can't keep me here against my will.'

‘Oh, can't I? Who says?'

‘Eleven footmen from Grosvenor Square, the Butcher's Boys if necessary, even my old friends, the Bow Street runners, if it comes to that. Look out the window: they're all waiting for me.'

Billy ran his fingers through his hair, eyes darting to the casement.

‘It's come to this, 'as it?' he said, feeling the edge of the letter opener.

I began to fear I had misjudged the situation.
Was it possible he would be foolish enough to do so desperate a deed?

‘Come to what, Billy?' I asked, not proud that my voice quavered.

‘I always said I'd 'ave to kill you. Nasty way to go, though: so blunt.'

I took a step back. ‘That's not fair.'

‘You've called me many things, Cat, but I don't remember “fair” being one of them.'

‘No, please!' I made a dart for the window to signal that now would be the perfect moment for the footmen to earn their livery but Billy grabbed my arm. He pulled me to him, his other hand bearing the king's knife at my throat.

I gave a sick laugh. ‘I think we've been here before, haven't we?' I could feel that he, like me, was shaking. But I wasn't going to die begging for mercy – not from a lowlife like him. He was breaking every rule of our street code taking his revenge now, and he knew it. ‘Go on then. Don't keep a lady waiting.' I lifted my chin and closed my eyes.

The moment of decision seemed to stretch
endlessly. Then I felt nothing but heard a clatter as a knife dropped to the floor. Billy's pressure on my arm lessened as his head sank on my shoulder.

‘Nah, I can't do it. You . . . you should go.' He released his hold and I staggered away from him.

He couldn't bring himself to kill me. That shocked me more than his threats. I didn't know what to say to him.

‘Billy, I –'

‘Shut it, Cat. Just go.'

Not needing to be told a third time, I ran from the room, slamming the door behind me. Close to collapse, I could go no further for the moment. I grabbed on to the leering satyr for support, struggling with the gulping sobs that racked me. A minute later, I heard sounds at the door – and I was off like lightning. As I clattered down the stairs, Billy came out on to the landing.

‘I'm not finished with you yet, Cat Royal!' he shouted after me.

‘But I've finished with you,' I replied, standing by the street door. ‘Get a life, Billy, and leave mine alone.'

Grosvenor Square, London
30 September, 1791

Mon cher ami, J-F,

 

Today I stood in the ruins of Drury Lane and thought of you. I wish you had had a chance to see my home before the demolition men got to work. I would have liked to show you the place where Mr Garrick once held London spellbound, Mrs Siddons scared us stiff, and Mr Kemble thrilled us with his eloquence. All that is gone – what remains is just rubble and swirling dust. If the theatre is to be reborn like the Phoenix, I'd say it is at the cold ashes stage of the process. I doubt my heart will warm to the new place even when it is built. Mr Sheridan has turned my world into a wasteland so I will have to look somewhere else for a home.

You mustn't worry about me getting into more trouble. I'm not short of offers of help of a more attractive kind than that extended to me by Billy Shepherd. Your gift secured my freedom – though for a moment I thought it was also going to be the means to my end. If you do decide to do business with Shepherd (and I suppose it is useless for me to warn you against it?), watch your back.

My own business dealings are looking up. Mr Sheridan said that several publishers have been making discreet enquiries about my manuscripts, now recovered by his lawyer from the printer's safe. He was so pleased to see me back safe and sound without a political scandal attached to his name that he even gave me two guineas (!) for the letters I wrote that never reached him. He said it was the least he could do. Money from my famously tight-fisted patron, Mr Sheridan – what is the world coming to?

 

I will end here with just these few words to assure you all is well. I've two guineas in my pocket, friends, a roof over my head – and best of all, thanks to you, I'm free of Billy Shepherd. I can stay or go as I like – unlike your unfortunate monarch. Sometimes, it really is better to be one of the nobility of the gutter.

Your dance partner,

Cat Royal, daughter of the people.

 

Curtain falls.

BEDFORD SQUARE
– a once elegant part of town, recently gone downhill since a certain person moved in

COCKADE
– a red, white and blue ribbon demonstrating support for the revolution (N.B. don't forget to wear one!)

CONCIERGE
– a porter, someone in charge of a building; also the title of the person in charge of the Conciergerie prison

CONCIERGERIE
– former palace, now a prison in Paris on the
Ile de la Cité

CORPUS CHRISTI
– Church holiday; it literally means ‘Christ's body'

CRACKSMEN
– burglars who ‘crack' open a house

DAUPHIN
– the French version of the Prince of Wales

DODGE
– trick

EXEUNT OMNES
– cue in play script for everyone to leave the stage

THE FANCY
– boxing

FIACRE
– French carriage

FLASH
– showy

FLAT
– gullible fool

FOP
– a man who makes a study of being fashionable and nothing else

GADABOUT
– pejorative term for someone who gets around a lot

GIVE SOMEONE THE EYE
– look them up and down in an amorous way

HUSSY
– woman of low reputation

IN LOCO PARENTIS
– Latin for ‘in place of the parent', an overused phrase in my opinion

LA FILLE MAL GARDÉE
– a ballet, roughly translated as ‘the badly guarded girl'

MAGSMAN
– a street trickster

MANUMISSION
– a slave's freedom

MINT OF MONEY
– an awful lot of it

MOLL
– female thief or one who associates with thieves, definitely not applicable to me

NAB
– steal, catch

NOTRE DAME
– twin-towered cathedral of Paris

PELISSE
– cloak with sleeves

PISSING IN THE WIND
– perhaps not one of my most elegant phrases but denotes something that will in the end backfire on you

POPINJAY
– overdressed man aspiring to be a leader of the fashion, upstart

ROAST BEEF
– French term for us English people

RUM DO
– strange thing

ROOKERIES
– poor area of London, also known as St Giles, best to be avoided

SAVE SOMEONE'S BACON
– get someone out of trouble

SCRATCH
– marked area in centre of boxing ring

THE SEASON
– fashionable time of year to be in town, usually considered to be from the New Year to late Spring

SKIVVY
– low status maid-of-all-work

SWEET AS A NUT
– to do something completely right

TERPSICHORE
– name of the Greek muse of dance

TUILERIES
– Royal residence in Paris

YOUNG BLOODS
– high-spirited, sporting gentlemen

Bath, December 1791
Curtain rises.