Cat's Cradle (11 page)

I was about to protest this when I caught sight of Frank on the point of emptying half the tea caddy into the pot. Swiftly, I leapt up to stop him.

‘Don't you know how expensive tea is?' I scolded, whipping the spoon from his hand. ‘Mrs Fletcher will have kittens if you waste it!'

Frank shook his head. ‘I don't think I've ever made tea before. Show me.'

Rather grateful to have the distraction while I worked out what to do about Bridgit, I demonstrated the art of making a pot of tea to the Earl of Arden. I think Frank was playing up his ineptitude to make Bridgit smile.

‘Are you really a lord, my lord?' she asked shyly, when he presented her with a cup.

‘Hard to believe, isn't it?' I murmured as I took my seat again.

‘But, for my sins, I am,' confirmed Frank.

‘Do you have estates in Ireland, my lord?' she asked quietly.

Frank wrinkled his brow. ‘I don't think so. England, Scotland, Wales – yes. Ireland – no. Why?'

Bridgit brightened at the news, a smile flickering at the corner of her mouth. ‘You see, your lordship, I wouldn't like to have to hate you.'

He gave a bark of startled laughter. ‘Hate me? What have I done to deserve that? The tea's not that bad, is it?'

I had worked out what lay behind her line of questioning. ‘She doesn't have to hate you because you're not an absentee landlord,' I explained. ‘The O'Rileys lost their land to one of those parasites.'

Bridgit sipped and gave him an appreciative nod. ‘And the tea is very good, my lord.'

An awkward silence fell. It was an odd situation – noble, commoner and Irish girl all sharing a pot of tea in a butcher's kitchen. Almost unique, I would guess. I was very aware of the gulf that separated me from Frank, something
that had been nagging me all day since he first turned up in his smart curricle and had been treated like minor royalty by all and sundry. Though we might pretend otherwise, he was so far above my touch as to be almost out of sight. But Bridgit, despite her nationality – she was someone much more on my level; her path and mine could meet naturally.

‘I have an idea,' I announced, putting down my cup.

Frank sat up and rapped on the table. ‘Attention, everyone! Cat Royal speaks.'

‘No, I'm serious. Bridgit, there'll be no fight – not today. But I believe you're right about having to get out of town. It's going to be nasty for the next few weeks. So I've thought of the very thing: why don't you come with me to Scotland?'

Her eyes widened. ‘Scotland?'

‘Yes. I have that family business I need to settle – and I'd like a friend to come with me. It's a long way to travel on my own.'

Frank slapped the tabletop, making the cups jump. ‘An inspiration worthy of Newton!' He
turned to Bridgit. ‘Miss O'Riley, would you do Cat's friends the very great favour of keeping her out of trouble? I know it's an almost impossible task but we will pay you for your time.'

‘Now, just wait a moment –' I broke in.

Frank silenced me with a look. ‘She may not realize it, but we all suffer when she's off gallivanting on her own. With you at her side, we'll all sleep more soundly. Syd in particular will be most grateful.'

Bridgit glanced at me. ‘If it please you, my lord –'

‘It would please all of us.'

‘After what my brothers did, I would like to repay you in some way –'

Frank waved off the subject. ‘You owe no one. It is we who would be in your debt.'

‘Then –' she searched my expression and I gave her a nod, ‘then I agree.'

We fixed on the following day to begin our journey. There was little point delaying: Frank had to return to college and Bridgit could not go out and about. It was far better to put some miles
between her and all the trouble her brothers had caused in Covent Garden. At her dictation, I wrote a note for the foreman to inform her family that she had found a position as a travelling companion to a young lady and would be gone some months. They were to leave word with the building site manager if they too moved on.

‘You don't regret leaving them?' I asked as I sealed the note.

Bridgit shook her head, toying with the end of her black braid. ‘No, it's time I left. Things were getting worse each day.'

I explained the plan to Syd when he woke up from his sleep. He could only manage a tired grumble at me going away but even he recognized that the journey would serve more than one purpose.

‘You'll be all right, Syd?' I asked. He did look much better today, despite the rainbow of bruises.

He groaned. ‘I'll mend.'

I brushed his raw knuckles. ‘Try and stop the boys going too far, for Bridgit's sake. Her brothers may be a bad lot but they're all she's got now.'

He grunted. ‘Don't worry. I'm goin' after justice, not revenge.'

I grimaced, thinking that after what they'd done to him, justice looked pretty serious.

‘I'll see you in a few weeks then.'

He closed his eyes, drifting back to sleep. ‘I 'ope you find what you're lookin' for, Kitten.'

‘So do I, but I'm not sure yet what that is.'

*
If you wish to read about my experience masquerading as Tom Hengrave Jnr, see
Cat Among the Pigeons
.

As curricles do not make a comfortable conveyance for more than a single passenger, Frank borrowed one of the family's carriages to transport us to Cambridge. To his annoyance (and my relief) he had to relinquish the reins to an experienced coachman as his father would not hear of him handling a team of four. Bridgit could hardly believe the luxury of travelling by private coach: no foul-smelling passengers with elbows in your ribs, well-sprung seats cushioning the jolts and bumps, and room to stretch.

‘To be sure, your lordship, I could take to this life,' she said, a sparkle in her eye. The further we travelled from London, the brighter she became; the spirits crushed by the misery of the past few days rising to what I guessed were their usual level.

‘Don't get too used to it,' I warned. ‘We've many hours on the stagecoach ahead of us.
How long do you think it will take us to get to Lanark, Frank?'

‘The very fastest you can do the journey to Scotland is two days, but that's without stopping for the night and I don't advise it. I suggest you break your journey at least a couple of times – take four or five days over it.' He leaned over me to pull a map of Britain out of the side pocket of the carriage door. Spreading it out over his knees, he traced the route north for us. ‘The stagecoach stops every fifteen miles or so to change horses, which means you'll have plenty of inns to choose from. When we get to Cambridge, I'll send my man to purchase tickets and make enquiries about the best inns.'

Gazing out the window to admire the golden boughs that arched over the road, I reflected how splendid it would be to have staff at my beck and call. Frank took such things for granted, but having someone else sort out the mundane details of life was a luxury worth even more than a well-sprung carriage.

After an early dinner at an inn in Saffron
Walden, we rumbled into Cambridge at dusk. It seemed an unlikely city, spiking out of the flat fenland in a crop of towers and elegant colleges. Unlike the press of traffic, beggars and working folk that thronged the streets of London, Cambridge seemed relatively empty, the lanes given over to flocks of rich young men intent on making a nuisance of themselves. The carriage rattled on the cobbles and drew to a halt outside an impressive gateway with two little turrets standing guard either side. The first thing I noticed was the statue of one of my least favourite kings, the wife-murdering Henry, over the large centre doors. With his left foot a little forward, peeking over the ledge, he looked as if he was about to cut a caper. Two irreverent stone lions guarded a shield underneath him with their tongues stuck out at all passers-by, I thought them most comical.

Frank jumped out, making the carriage rock. ‘Wait here a moment. I'm just going to have a word with the porter.'

I craned my head out of the window and watched him disappear under the archway
through a smaller door. Black-robed students flapped in and out of the portal like bats entering and leaving their cave. Frank came back in a trice, beaming.

‘I've arranged a room for you with the porter's family. They live opposite College. If you would like to settle in, I'll fetch Charlie.'

I glimpsed through the gateway a tempting stretch of green sward and elegant wide paths. There lay hidden the forbidden fruit of male scholarship – but I was Eve's daughter, Reader, and tempted to taste. ‘I've come all this way, Frank. Can't I see your college?'

Frank glanced around as if checking whether or not he could be overheard. ‘I can't take a lady in without permission from the dean, Cat. It's a bit late to go and ask him now.'

I raised a brow.

He took one look at my face and groaned. ‘Oh, all right, I'll think of something. I meant to show you my set of rooms; I just hadn't worked out how.'

That was more like it. I grinned my approval.

Frank ran his hands through his hair, a little
exasperated. ‘You can be dashed manipulative sometimes, you know, Cat?'

I looked at him in innocent wonderment. ‘What? Me? Did I say anything, Bridgit?'

The Irish girl shook her head and laughed. ‘No, that you did not.'

‘See!'

‘You don't have to say anything,' grumbled Frank. ‘You just have to fix me with those big green eyes of yours and I find myself doing all sorts of ridiculous things. I'll call to fetch you in about an hour.'

Exactly sixty minutes later Mrs Grandley, our hostess, knocked politely on the door to our chamber.

‘Miss Royal, there are two gentlemen waiting for you.'

‘Coming?' I asked my companion.

Bridgit was stretched out on the bed, relishing the clean cotton sheets and soft feather mattress. She shook her head.

‘No, thank you. They're your friends. Mrs
Grandley has said I could have a bath in the kitchen.'

Leaving her to be pampered, I jumped down the stairs and burst into the little front parlour of this higgledy-piggledy lodging house. The two occupants seemed to fill the entire space, their heads brushing the low-beamed ceiling, long academic gowns sweeping almost to the floor. As tall as each other, the young Cambridge scholars made an impressive sight – black pillars of wisdom and learning. At least that was the appearance; reality was rather more fun.

‘Charlie!' I launched myself at my old school-friend, giving him a hug before remembering my manners. I pushed back and bobbed a curtsey. He still had a mop of black hair which he now clubbed back in a ribbon.

‘Tom Cat!' Charlie laughed with delight and caught me up in a second hug, refusing to go all formal. ‘I can't believe how my little brother has grown into such an intrepid traveller. France, America, the Caribbean – I've been quite agog at your antics!'

‘And now Scotland,' chipped in Frank.

‘And I understand we only have your company for a day.' Charlie pulled a sad face.

‘Unfortunately, yes,' I replied.

He reached for my hand. ‘Come on then – don't you want to see our college?'

‘I'd love to, but Frank mumbled something about it not being allowed.' I rolled my eyes in disgust.

Charlie smiled. ‘It's not. But when has that ever stopped us?'

Frank stepped forward at this point and shook out a third robe with a flourish. ‘In honour of past adventures, I borrowed this from one of the gentleman commoners – it should do the trick.'

Charlie produced an academic cap and plonked it on my head. ‘Good job it's getting dark, or no one would mistake you for an undergraduate.'

Suitably disguised, I followed my friends through the hallowed portals and into the hidden world beyond. We emerged into a huge courtyard, almost as big as Covent Garden, I would guess, but
without the clutter of stalls and people. The atmosphere was hushed, somewhat like a cathedral cloister. A rook cawed as it perched on one of the pinnacles that decorated the buildings like a row of Indian arrowheads. Students hugged the paths around the edge of the Great Court, leaving the perfect green lawns unsullied by their feet. I peered at a little sign sticking out of the ground. It stated in no uncertain terms that undergraduates were not allowed on the grass. How perfectly silly! I felt an irrepressible desire to do something outrageous. I recognized that feeling: it had never done me any good but I could not stop myself.

‘Frank, Charlie – I'm sorry but I just have to.'

Before they could grab me, I chucked Charlie my hat and took a run, leaping the low barrier. Six perfect cartwheels later I was back on the path, still running, this time fleeing the shouts of an outraged porter. The long legs of Frank and Charlie caught up with me and they hauled me into a doorway and up a flight of stairs. I arrived outside their set, out of breath but immensely pleased with myself.