Cat's Cradle (9 page)

She bobbed a curtsey, keeping her head down. ‘I'll be going now, Cat; your lordship.'

‘If you're sure,' I said, understanding how strange this might all appear to her.

She nodded.

‘I'll see you soon, I hope?'

‘If it please you.'

‘Yes, it would.'

With a brief flicker of a smile, she darted out of the shop.

Frank followed her with speculative eyes. ‘New friend?'

‘I hope so. A stunner, isn't she? Want a bun?'

Frank grabbed the spare roll, tossed Caleb a sovereign, and escorted me to the door.

‘Would Miss Royal care to take a spin in my new curricle?' he asked with mischievous formality.

‘What? That two-wheeled death trap?' His matched pair of Cleveland Bays stamped their hooves, looking remarkably fresh after their dash from Cambridge. ‘Are you sure you know how to drive it?'

‘I passed our head coachman's test with flying colours, I'll have you know. I can turn on a sixpence and control the cattle in an emergency – Father wouldn't let me out in it until I'd proved I could drive it to his satisfaction.'

I grinned. ‘In that case, I'd love to.' As he handed me up to the front seat, I assumed a puzzled air. ‘And why did your father want to test you on cows in any case?'

‘Cattle – Cat – are horses,' Frank replied with an air of superiority as he inducted me into the mysteries of carriage-driving.

‘Is your groom coming with us?'

‘My tiger,' he corrected, giving the man a nod to release the horses' heads.

‘What! You've brought one of those too? Won't it eat the horses – sorry, cattle.'

‘Tiger is the term for my groom.'

‘Surely groom is the term for groom?' I'd known that, of course, but it was fun to needle him.

He gave an impatient flick of the whip and the horses pulled away, making slow progress down the congested street. As a cart surged out in our path, we narrowly missed a lamp post.

‘This is novel,' I gulped, no longer so convinced by his skill. ‘How many points for taking down a post? Three perhaps? What about running over a little old lady?'

‘Little old ladies are safe from me,' he huffed.

‘I think one of the boys nicked your fancy brass lamp while you were inside.' I tapped the empty bracket beside me.

Frank's face clouded. ‘Damn! I promised on my Great-Aunt Veronica's honour that I'd return the curricle to Father without a scratch.'

Catching sight of a familiar long-legged man in an oversized coat threading his way through the crowds, I gave a shrill whistle.

‘Oi, Light-Fingers – give it back!'

The man froze, debating whether or not to scarper.

‘You know better than to pick on the Chimney Sweep Lord,
*
don't you? Syd'll have your gizzard made into sausages and fed to the Bow Street Runners for breakfast.'

Light-Fingers sloped over to my side of the carriage and groped in his pocket.

‘It fell off,' he grunted, handing me the brass lamp. ‘So pleased to oblige 'is 'igh-and-mightiness by returnin' it.'

Frank, fists full of reins, nodded to his tiger. ‘Give the man a shilling, Jacobs.'

The shilling spun in the air for a second before being snatched by Light-Fingers. The thief was gone before Frank could repent of his generosity.

The Earl of Arden cocked an eyebrow. ‘And what exactly is a gizzard?'

I laughed. ‘Not sure, but it sounded suitably grisly, didn't it?'

The tale of my recent adventures in Jamaica and San Domingo, even when told in brief, took the rest of the drive to Hyde Park and then some. We were bowling down the carriage drive parallel to Rotten Row before I'd finished. Frank was so absorbed in my news that he merely raised his whip in automatic reply to his acquaintances; I doubt he really saw anyone at that moment. I drew a carriage blanket over my knees, aware that my plain dress did not compare well to the beautiful
gowns of the other ladies. He'd brought me to one of the parading places of the Ton; rich folk came here to see and be seen. Every detail of my appearance would doubtless be chewed over by the mamas and their debutante daughters. Jealous of any girl sitting near one of England's most eligible young peers, they were more merciless than critics at a first night – and I certainly gave them plenty to complain about.

‘You haven't yet explained why you were considering highway robbery, Cat,' said Frank as we eased round the turning circle and headed back the way we had come.

I was beginning to relax now I realized that he could actually drive this vehicle without risking life and limb. My knuckles were no longer white on the rail. ‘Ah, that was yesterday's surprise.'

The news that I might not be quite as alone in the world as we had thought caused Frank to pull his horses over to the verge so he could give me his full attention.

‘Are you serious about travelling to Scotland, Cat?'

‘I am. I even have a plan – a good plan.'

‘On your own?'

‘Frank, I've been to America and back mostly on my own. I hardly think Scotland much of a challenge.'

He harrumphed – a rather impressive noise that would stand him in good stead when he eventually became a duke.

‘I don't know, Cat –'

‘You drive rather well, you know, for a beginner.'

I knew a remark like that would make him relinquish the subject of Scotland.

‘Beginner! I'm better than that, I hope. And I don't
drive
. I
tool
the carriage.'

‘I know, I know.' I waved a hand airily. ‘You
tool
your
cattle
accompanied by your
tiger
. The brethren of the whip would be proud of you; you certainly have the language down pat.'

He bowed at my compliment.

‘But as you are an expert, can you explain why your
cattle
are currently eating the flowers from that old lady's bonnet?'

Frank turned in horror to see one of his bays grazing happily on the brim of a hat as the unfortunate woman leaned out of her open-topped carriage to wave to an acquaintance. He jerked on the reins but the horse merely looked up, dragging the bonnet in its mouth and thus alerting the woman to the ravaging of her favourite chapeau. Her eyes fastened on Frank.

‘Your g . . . grace,' stuttered Frank. ‘Please accept my heartfelt apologies.'

The wrinkled countenance of the lady turned a pale puce colour. She raised her lorgnette to her eyes.

‘Avon's boy, isn't it?' Her voice was so sharp it could have sawn a plank in half.

‘Yes, your grace.' Shoving the reins in my hands, Frank leapt from the seat and wrestled the bonnet from his horse. He handed the mangled item back to its owner with as much aplomb as he could muster in the circumstances. I was amused to note that we were gathering quite a little audience as ladies and gentlemen paused to see what was happening.

‘Your father will hear of this, you impudent pup!' She threw the bonnet on to the floor of the carriage and nodded to the coachman to continue.

‘I'm sure he will.' Frank bowed as the carriage disappeared.

Trying to hide his humiliation, Frank clambered up beside me. Silently, I handed him the reins and he flicked the horses into motion, fleeing the embarrassing scene as fast as he could.

I leaned against him and gave him a nudge. ‘Six points.'

‘What?' he snapped, still annoyed with himself.

‘Dowager Duchess's bonnet: worth at least six points.'

Torn between mortification and humour, Frank gave into the absurdity of the situation and began to laugh. Our curricle tooled once more around the park, the two occupants of the front seat near helpless with giggles.

*
For those of you who have not read my earlier adventures yet, this is Frank's honorary title in Covent Garden due to him once having disguised himself as a sweep. He fooled no one but we humoured him.

I take it you are serious about going to Scotland?' asked Frank.

We had stopped for refreshments in the Crown and Anchor – Frank's treat. Signs of last night's riot had been swept away, though I thought I detected a slightly frantic air from the manager. I was currently enjoying my third breakfast in the smart dining room, served by the most obsequious waiters on God's earth.

‘Would the young lady like some butter with her muffin, my lord?' drawled the attendant, practically falling over Frank's shoulder in his eagerness to serve the needs of the earl.

‘Yes, the young lady would like butter,' I replied brightly, determined that he should acknowledge my right to exist.

‘Very good.' The waiter still had not raised his eyes to me, bowing to Frank as he departed.

My friend chuckled.

‘How can you bear it?' I sighed. ‘All that fawning over you as if you were some kind of demigod.'

‘Only a demigod?' Frank took a bite of his bacon and chewed with relish.

‘Zeus himself then. Lord knows what would happen if your exalted father graced the place with his presence.'

‘I imagine the waiter would expire with excitement.'

‘Still, doesn't it get on your nerves?'

‘Absolutely. Why do you think I'm friends with you? A sobering dose of your insults and teasing, and my head deflates to normal size. So, Cat – Scotland. What's the big plan?'

I crumbled up my muffin, then instantly regretted wasting it and tried to stick it back together again.

Frank clicked his fingers. A waiter sprang to his side. ‘Another muffin for the lady, please.'

‘At once, my lord.'

A basket of warm muffins covered by a linen
napkin appeared in front of me and a fresh plate replaced my old crumb-covered one.

‘I suppose rank does have compensations,' I muttered as I took a bite.

Frank met my eye and held it.

I capitulated. ‘All right – Scotland. I don't think marching up and knocking on Mrs Moir's door would get me any further – she can tell me any tale that she wants. I need to slip past her defences and hear the truth without her knowing what she's revealing.'

Frank nodded. ‘Good plan. So how?'

‘I thought I'd get a job.'

‘A job?'

‘Yes, in the mill. Get to know the family and see what I can make of them.'

The cream jug arrived on a silver salver.

‘How does the young lady like her tea, my lord?' The annoying waiter was back.

Frank smiled at my irritation. ‘I've no idea, Herman. I suggest you ask her yourself.'

The waiter angled himself slightly in my direction but couldn't quite bring himself to frame
the enquiry to such a questionable specimen of the lower classes.

‘Oh, give it here,' I grumbled, taking the jug and adding a dash to my tea. ‘I like it like this, all right?'

‘I will remember your companion's preference in future, my lord.' The waiter backed from the table as if leaving the presence of royalty.

Frank frowned. ‘He's beginning to annoy me too now.'

‘I'm surprised he hasn't erected a screen around me to hide me from the other guests.'

Frank raised his hand as if to click his fingers again.

‘Don't you dare!' I said in an undertone.

He gave me his sunniest smile. ‘You are so easy to tease. So – back to Scotland.'

‘Yes – job, get to know the Moirs, find the truth and then . . .' My voice tailed away.

‘Then?'

‘I don't know, to be honest with you. If they do turn out to be family then I suppose I'll have to make myself known to them.'

‘Would you stay with them?'

I shook my head.

‘Not even if this Mrs Moir turns out to be your mother?'

I bit my lip. ‘I can't answer that.'

Frank tapped his fingers on the table for a moment – a most annoying habit.

‘I can take you as far as Cambridge. You can catch a stage from there.' He felt in his pocket. ‘And to prevent you donning a mask and turning highwayman, I insist you accept some money.' He placed a stack of gold coins on the table.

‘Ten guineas! I couldn't. It's too much.'

He pushed the money to my side. ‘Did you not hear the “insist” bit? I did it in my most impressive demigod voice especially and I don't want that wasted.'

I hesitated. It would solve so many problems but I hated being beholden to a friend – to anyone for that matter.

‘You'd do as much for me if the tables were turned, wouldn't you? Admit it, Cat.'

‘I would.' I touched the topmost guinea with my fingertip. ‘I'll pay you back.'

‘If you wish.'

‘No, I insist.' Swiftly, before I could change my mind again, I tucked the coins deep in my pocket.

Frank let out a breath. ‘Good. I'm glad that's over. Now tell me what else I can do to help.'