Cat Among the Pigeons (18 page)

I was too cold to have any appetite to continue this exchange. I just wanted to see Pedro. ‘Look, Billy, did you drag me out here only to bait me?'

He shook his head. ‘Nah, Moggy, we need to make a turn down 'ere.'

Shepherd led the way into a narrow alley that ran between the tavern and a warehouse. It was the kind of place I'd normally avoid like the plague as it headed into the Rookeries – the maze of crumbling houses and courtyards that had given Shepherd his start on the road to power and riches. I glanced around me before committing myself. A couple of men lounging outside the tavern were watching me, the light pouring from the window gilding their drab clothes with temporary splendour. I turned back. Shepherd's black cloak was disappearing into the darkness – I'd lose him if I didn't hurry.

‘In for a penny, in for a pound,' I muttered, stealing myself to take the plunge.

I found him waiting for me at the other end of the alleyway. ‘Stick close, Cat,' he said in a low voice, taking my elbow. ‘You'll come to no 'arm as long as you're with me.'

I remembered my last visit to the Rookeries –
the night Shepherd tried to cut my throat. The smell was as rank, the streets as dirty, the buildings as crazed as they had been then. But there was one major change: no one approached us or tried to rob me. Instead, as we passed the beggars huddled on doorsteps, the men and women clustered in the doorways to the gin palaces and grotty taverns, they all stood to attention.

‘Evenin', Mr Shepherd,' said one red-nosed Irishman, tipping his hat to my companion. A street-walker in a ragged petticoat dropped a curtsey.

Shepherd acknowledged their greetings with a slight nod of his head.

‘You see, Cat, I'm all they've got. I'm king, judge and jury to 'em. I'm more of a ruler 'ere than King bleedin' George on his bleedin' throne. My word is life or death.'

And he was loving it, lapping up the signs of fearful respect his passage through the Rookeries was prompting from his unfortunate subjects. To command this kind of attention from the most
hard-bitten and desperate of London's poor, he must have done some terrible things to them. I wondered how many he'd killed, how many businesses he'd done over, whom he'd bribed. It was then I understood what I was doing here: Billy was a born showman suffering from lack of an audience. He had arranged all this to impress me, his sworn enemy. Not that I was much of a threat to him: he knew he could swat me like a fly if he wanted. To send one of his boys after me on a dark night would be the work of a moment. But he wanted more than this: he wanted to convert me. He knew I despised him; he wanted me to admire him. Well, he could fling his cap after me – he'd come to the wrong person if he wanted even the most grudging esteem.

‘Remember, Cat, I once offered you a share in all this?' he said with a sweep of his arm at his kingdom. ‘Funny really, now I think about it. You're such a queer little thing, but there's somethink about you that . . . well, that . . .'as promise. You're like me: I started from nothink and now
I've got me foot on the first rung of the ladder to 'igh society.'

‘Oh, please!' I snorted.

‘You'll see,' said Shepherd, refusing to be offended by my scorn, ‘money can buy a 'ell of a lot of blue blood. You got your claws into those Avons by your own nous, didn't you? You must be clever enough to understand 'ow it can be done.'

‘You think I'm milking Frank and his family for money?'

‘Well, ain't you?'

I was about to make a virulent denial, but then remembered the guineas Frank had had to shell out to cover my expenses at school. ‘They're my friends,' I said lamely.

‘They're the best kind of milk cow, Cat, as I'm sure you know.'

‘How would you know, not having any friends to speak of?'

Shepherd came to a sudden stop. I thought for a moment that I had gone too far, but I was wrong.

‘This is it, Moggy,' he announced.

I looked up. We were standing in front of a once fine building, a vast place with many windows and a pillared porch. It was surrounded by a high wall with an iron gate set in an archway. But the gracious elegance was all gone, replaced by boarded gaps where once had been glass, missing slates, and filth-smeared walls. ‘This is Rats' Castle.'

I thought the place was just a legend. Rats' Castle was an old leper hospital, built by benevolent gentlemen in the days when the Rookeries had been a respectable part of town – a stylish dumping ground for those inflicted with severe skin diseases where they could rot away surrounded by opulence. It had fallen far and now seemed more like a leper victim itself, as if the ailments of its former inhabitants had transferred into the stones. No one had repaired the building for decades but they had added to it in a bizarre and haphazard fashion. The castle's old isolation had been breeched by
rickety wooden walkways connecting it to the roofs of the neighbouring slums. Shacks had sprouted on the slates and against the walls like fungi on a rotting trunk, giving shelter to hundreds of people.

‘That's where we're goin',' said Shepherd, thumbing towards a ladder leaning against the wall. It connected to one of the highest walkways. ‘Are you game for the jaunt, Moggy?'

‘All right,' I said, feeling my mouth go dry.

‘But I'll have to blindfold you.' He pulled a blue silk handkerchief from his pocket like a conjuror. ‘There are certain secrets about this place I don't want you to see.'

‘You can't be serious?'

‘It's clean – well, quite clean,' said Shepherd, giving the handkerchief a sniff.

‘I don't mean the wipe – you want me to walk across there blind?'

‘Yeah. Why? Is that a problem, Miss Royal?'

‘Of course it's a problem, you idiot! I'll kill myself.'

‘Nah you won't. I'll be guidin' you. You'll just have to trust me.'

‘But I don't . . .'

‘Trust me,' he finished. ‘I know. But it's part of the fun. Why do you think I'm doin' this if not to make you sweat a little?'

‘Boil, you are the biggest pile of dung ever produced by a pox-ridden, fart-filled cow,' I fumed as he tied the handkerchief around my eyes.

‘You're just sayin' that 'cause you love me so much,' he said. Even with my eyes bound, I was sure he was grinning. ‘Come on, 'old me 'and.' He took me to the ladder and curled my fingers around the bottom rung. ‘Now climb till I say stop.'

I did as I was told, trying not to think about the many tricks he could play on me in this situation. Did he think he could get away with telling Syd that I'd fallen by accident? Surely not: he'd know Syd would blame him for anything that happened to me.

‘Right, Moggy, stop there.' I could feel a cold breeze on my face as if we were high up above
the level of the surrounding buildings. ‘If you reach in front of you, you'll find a platform. Step on to it.' It was as he said. I stood on the boards not daring to move. I doubted there would be a rail to catch me if I strayed. ‘Take me 'and. This time I go first.'

‘You think your scaring me, don't you, Boil,' I said, more to keep my spirits up than anything as we edged along the walkway. ‘Well, you're wrong.'

‘Oh, am I?' he said archly. ‘Then you won't mind if I let go of your 'and then?' He pulled himself free of my grip. ‘And wot if I jump up and down a bit to keep warm?' His boots thumped on the planks, making the whole walkway judder. I staggered, arms flailing. ‘Oh, and mind the 'ole in front of you.' I gave a shriek and threw myself in the direction of his voice, catching hold of his legs as my foot fell through into nothingness. ‘Still not scared, Cat?' he asked as he put his arms around me to haul me back to my feet. ‘So why are you shakin' like a leaf, eh?'

I pushed him away. ‘Don't, Billy! Don't do
that again.' But there was no point in pleading with someone as ruthless as him.

‘Don't do wot? This?' He began to jump again. The walkway groaned and creaked.

There was only one thing for it. I pushed past him and set off unaided across the planks.

‘Wot you doin', you daft cow?' he called after me. I stomped on. If I fell, it was his gold, his gang that he would forfeit. I guessed he was not going to lose all that if he could help it. The jumping stopped and he swiftly took my arm again.

‘I say one thing for you, Cat: you've got more pluck than all me boys put together,' he said hoarsely. ‘Almost there now.'

The feeling of the air changed as we entered the building. It smelt damp and foul as if rubbish had accumulated here for years and festered where it lay. Shepherd turned me round a few times then took off my blindfold. I couldn't see exactly what part of the building we were in because all the windows were boarded. The only
light came from a lantern swinging from a hook in the ceiling. Plaster hung loosely from the walls like trailing bandages, giving a glimpse of dark rooms beyond.

‘Where's Pedro?' I asked. This room was empty, apart from two wooden chairs and a table.

‘I told you 'e was bein' kept close,' said Shepherd, going to an iron ring set in the floor and pulling on it. With a creak, he raised the trapdoor to reveal a windowless hole in the belly of this rotting corpse of a house.

‘Who's there?' a faint voice called up from inside.

‘Pedro!' I cried, rushing to the edge of the cavity.

‘Is that you, Cat? Have you come to get me out?' Pedro asked, his voice full of hope.

‘Nah, Blackie,' Shepherd called out cheerfully. ‘But she can come down and visit you if she wants.' He took a ladder that was leaning against a wall and lowered it into the hole. ‘Off you go, Cat. Give a whistle when you want to come up.' He handed me the lantern and settled himself
down at the table, conjuring up a bottle from the pockets of his jacket to keep him company.

I'd come this far: I had to go the last few steps even if they were into a pit no bigger than a cupboard and darker than a moonless night. I could touch the damp walls with my arms outstretched – it was frighteningly like being trapped in a chimney flue. I'd heard of sweeps who had got stuck and suffocated in the dark: it had always been one of my worst nightmares to imagine their suffering. Biting down hard on my fear, I descended the ladder and held up my lantern. Pedro was sitting on the edge of a mattress, empty plate and bottle by his side, staring at me in amazement.

I put the lantern on the floor and hugged him. ‘It's so good to see you again, Pedro,' I said, half-sobbing.

Pedro pulled away. ‘Have they caught you too?' he asked fearfully.

‘No. Shepherd brought me here.'

‘Why?'

‘No idea. He said you asked to see me.'

‘I did – but I thought he was joking when he said he'd bring you. He's been quite decent really.' Pedro looked down at the floor. He seemed different somehow – resigned, crushed, weighed down by the memories of the past. ‘He talks to me when he's got the time, makes sure I have enough food and water. He's told the boys who guard me not to hurt me.'

That put a new complexion on things.

‘I didn't realize,' I said softly.

‘Didn't realize what?'

‘That he's your gaoler.'

‘Of course. My master's paid him to keep me here – like he paid that piano tuner to snatch me from the house.'

‘Your
old
master, Pedro,' I corrected him, worried by this new turn of phrase.

Pedro said nothing, but he let go of my hand.

‘What's going to happen to you? Do you know?' I asked, trying to be practical.

‘They're taking me to Jamaica, they say.
That's if I don't manage to kill myself first, of course.' He gave me a bitter smile. ‘I tried to throw myself off that wooden bridge up there but they caught me. That's why I'm down here.'

I'd contemplated giving Pedro the knife but this changed my mind. If I couldn't get him out of here tonight, I certainly wasn't going to leave him alone with it.

‘Look, Pedro, it's only Shepherd up there at the moment. He's unarmed. Why don't we try and make a run for it?' I whispered.

‘No,' he said.

‘Why not?' I asked, beginning to feel annoyed by his defeatism. ‘If we're quick enough up the ladder, we can overpower him and escape.'

‘This is why.' He pointed to his neck. I lifted the lantern and saw that he was wearing an iron collar attached by a chain to the wall.

‘Oh, Pedro!' I couldn't help it: I began to cry. All that I had been through over the last few weeks, all that Pedro was suffering, came out in a storm of tears. I buried my head on his shoulder.
He held me tight, offering comfort when it was him that needed it most.

‘You mustn't worry about me, Cat,' he said bravely. ‘It won't be so bad. I'll find a way out in the end. They can't watch me forever.'

‘We'll help you,' I said, furious with myself. I wiped my eyes on my cloak. ‘Mr Sharp knows how to stop you being taken against your will.'

‘He has to find me first,' said Pedro grimly.

‘And we will. I know where you are now. That's got to help. You mustn't give up hope.' I couldn't leave him like this. I wished I could give him something to remind him that he had friends. Of course! ‘Have this.' I pressed the pottery medallion into his hand. ‘And you should take this back too.' I threaded the pearl earring through his lobe. ‘It's a sign of your freedom, Pedro – of your talent and your success.'

Pedro gripped the medallion hard and then touched his earring back in its old familiar place. ‘Thank you, Cat. I'm going to miss you.'

‘Not for long, because we'll both be back home soon.'

‘Home?' he asked wistfully.

‘Drury Lane, of course.' I sat back next to him, arm against arm, looking up at the open trapdoor. ‘Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.'