Cat-O'nine Tails, Page 3

  ‘That follows: she’d have to be drunk to marry you.’

  ‘You won’t mind, Cat, if I don’t introduce you.’ Billy’s gaze was now roving the company as if looking for someone. ‘She’s rather a cut above you.’

  ‘Above me? What about you, you lying, thieving, murderous bully! What stone did she find you under?’

  He turned back to me, his eyes travelling over my new attire. ‘You forget your place, Cat. The dress becomes you well enough, but it doesn’t change who you are. One word with the Master of Ceremonies and he’d have you out on the street where you belong, with a flea in your ear for polluting the company. There are few mothers who like their girls mixing with a bastard daughter of some common streetwalker.’

  I flushed with rage. He was always trying to drag me down to his level. ‘And what if I was to mention to the Master of Ceremonies your little criminal empire?’ I spat.

  Billy shrugged. ‘He’d probably appreciate proof of the depth of my purse. Half the young bloods in Bath are in debt to me.’

  ‘That’s not fair.’

  ‘Tell me, Cat: when was your world ever fair?’ He lifted my chin with his index finger, forcing me to meet his gaze. ‘When you got thrown out of the theatre company for being no use to anyone?’ His grey-green eyes gleamed maliciously.

  You have to hand it to Billy: he certainly knows how to pour salt on a wound.

  I had had enough. Rapping his finger away with my fan, I freed myself. ‘Well, Mr Shepherd, it’s been a joy and delight as always to pass the time in your company but I’m afraid I have obligations that tear me from your side.’

  I turned to go but a hand shot out and grabbed my arm.

  ‘I believe the next dance is mine,’ said Billy.

  ‘You must be joking.’ I shook him off. ‘Besides, I have a full dance card. I couldn’t possibly squeeze you in.’

  Billy tugged the card from its ribbon, opened it and laughed. He now brandished it in front of me. ‘Come off it, Cat.’ His language was sliding back into his old ways. ‘’Aven’t you twigged yet? No one’s going to ask you to dance. Look, not even your Lord Francis has demeaned himself to take you out for an ’op. If you don’t dance with me, you’ll be a wallflower all evenin’, common garden variety.’

  I bit my lip.

  ‘Aw, I’ve upset you, Kitten, ’aven’t I? But look around you: can’t you see the stares you’re attractin’? You entered on the arm of the catch of the season so you can bet your last farthin’ that all the old dears in the room were quick to smoke you out.’ He put down his glass and took mine from my unresisting hand. ‘’Alf of them are plottin’ to snare Lord Francis so they’ll make sure you’re no threat to the nice girls. They’ll want you ground into the dirt where you belong. I really needn’t’ve threatened to tell the Master of Ceremonies: it’s been done already, no doubt. P’rhaps the Avons’ influence is enough to protect you from being thrown out on your ear, but I bet all the young men have been warned off approachin’ you on pain of disinheritance. As for your little lord, ’e’ll make enemies if ’e pays you ’alf a second’s notice.’ He laughed. ‘Such a shame when you’re lookin’ such a flash mort.’

  Humiliated, I knew I was blushing scarlet, never a becoming colour for a redhead like me. How I hated Billy – and the ball with all its fine people who thought themselves too good to breathe the same air as me. I snatched the card back from him, ripped it in half and dropped it in his glass of punch. I just wanted to go home: home to Drury Lane and not back to living as a hanger-on at Boxton, an object of derision to all Frank’s circle.

  He scanned my face. ‘So, Miss Foundling of Dubious Reputation, does that mean you’re going to dance with me or not?’ Billy asked in mockingly polite tones, fishing the card out with a smile.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Come, come, don’t you want to see me disgrace myself in the ballroom?’ He flicked the punch off the card, staining my pretty white dress with droplets. ‘Wouldn’t that be some recompense – save an otherwise horrible evening?’

  He knew me too well. I would relish the chance of getting my own back for his insults. If he thought he could pretend to be a gentleman, let him prove it!

  ‘All right, Billy. Let’s see you dance. But don’t get angry if I fall about laughing.’

  ‘Nah, Cat, I couldn’t get angry with you.’ He offered me his hand with a flourish and this time I took it. As we walked into the ballroom, it felt more like we were going to a duel than a dance. The minuet had just finished and the orchestra struck up a cotillion. Good: all the more difficult for Billy to get it right. We moved into position, facing each other, lacking only the pistols to complete the scene.

  I curtseyed.

  He bowed.

  Then the dance began.

  Damn and blast him! It took only a few turns for me to realize that he was good – too good. He had an instinctive grace so there was nothing to mock. Dancing as well as elocution lessons – he was doing the gentleman thing properly. He grinned at me when he saw I had noticed his faultless steps. We came together for a hand spin.

  ‘Really, Cat, you must say something, you know; it’s only polite,’ he commented as we passed.

  I wanted to ask him why he always had to turn up and spoil things for me, but he’d only take that as proof he was winning.

  ‘If you want polite, then I hope you and Miss Abingdon will be very happy together,’ I said sweetly.

  ‘Hah!’ he gave a derisive snort. ‘Actually, I don’t come to you for polite. Miss Abingdon is an ugly old stick well past her prime. I doubt we’ll see much of each other after we’re wed.’

  ‘Then why marry you?’

  ‘My beloved’s business owes me a lot of money; in fact, everyone seems to owe me a lot of money these days. It’s why I can afford to dance with you.’

  I ignored the dig with Olympian calm. ‘Well, I must say, you dance well for a vicious cut-throat. All that running from the Bow Street runners must’ve done you good.’

  ‘Yes, we’ve both had a lot of practice at that. I think we make a charming couple.’

  The dance came to an end and he bowed to kiss my hand. Thank goodness I was wearing a glove. Time to end this charade. I turned abruptly on my heel, whipped my hand out of reach, and left him kissing the air.

  I had reached the corridor to the cloakroom when I felt a hand on my shoulder. Billy was breathing down my neck, far too close.

  ‘Miss Royal, we’re not through yet. Perhaps you are not accustomed to ballroom etiquette? You owe me a pair, a second dance, that’s the rule.’

  ‘I owe you nothing, Billy.’

  Our altercation was attracting the stares of the footmen on duty. Billy backed me into an alcove behind a potted palm.

  ‘I’ve offended you, ’aven’t I, Cat? You don’t like it that I’m risin’ above you. You never thought I’d cut it as a gentleman.’ His face was a study in self-satisfaction.

  ‘Rising above me? Don’t fool yourself.’

  He leant closer, his face serious now. ‘But I’m glad you’re ’ere, Kitten. I’ve been wantin’ to make you an offer.’

  ‘You’ve nothing to offer that I could possibly want.’ I took a step back, not liking what I saw in his expression.

  ‘No?’

  With snakelike swiftness, he darted forward and clamped his mouth on mine. His kiss was hot and fierce. I was too stunned to do anything – I couldn’t even break away as his arm circled my waist, crushing me to him. My heart was racing, my legs turning to water.

  Then it got worse.

  ‘You said she went this way?’ said Frank as he and Mr Dixon walked in upon us. ‘Cat!’

  Billy looked up and relaxed his hold enough for me to push him away. I fled, his laughter ringing in my ears.

  ‘Lord Francis, how delightful to see you again,’ Billy crowed, his voice following me down the corridor, ‘but I’m afraid your timing leaves a lot to be desired.’

  Mortified, I hid for the next hour in the ladies’ cloak
room until the stares of the attendant became too hostile for me to ignore. I moved then to the hat room by the front door, talking my way in thanks to the friendly black footman who had heard of Pedro. I helped out by handing him the hats as the gentlemen presented their tickets at the window.

  ‘You shouldn’t be doing that, miss,’ my new friend said. ‘You should be enjoying yourself.’

  ‘But I am enjoying myself, Sam – here with you. I shouldn’t have tried mixing with the likes of them.’ I jerked my head towards the ballroom where the music was still playing.

  ‘Number six hundred and sixty-six,’ a familiar voice announced at the window, handing over a ticket. I tried to duck down behind a naval officer’s bicorne but Billy had spotted me. ‘So that’s where my blushing partner ran off to.’ I wordlessly passed a black silk hat to Sam, who in turn handed it to Shepherd. Billy tipped it to me as he put it on his head. ‘A most amusing evening. I’ll be seeing you soon, Miss Royal. We need to finish our interrupted conversation.’ And he left.

  ‘Who was that?’ asked Sam, pocketing the generous tip Billy had left him.

  ‘A low-down, conniving, vicious, son of a –’

  Perhaps it was fortunate for the innocent Sam that I was unable to continue.

  Hot on Billy’s trail, Frank appeared at the window. He glanced out of the door in time to see him climbing into his carriage, then looked back at me.

  ‘Cat, is this where you’ve been all evening? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. What are you doing here? Were you and he . . .?’ He gestured towards the coach.

  ‘No, we were not,’ I said tartly, getting up to depart. ‘Sam, thank you for the refuge.’

  ‘Any time, miss. Send my best wishes to Pedro. Tell him he did us all proud last year.’

  ‘I will.’ And with that I thrust Frank’s hat into his arms and marched out to the Avon carriage.

  To say that the atmosphere in the carriage was Arctic would be an understatement. The North Pole is positively warm compared to the rear-facing seat that night. The duke and duchess chatted merrily about their acquaintances, oblivious to the awkardness opposite them. I was desperate to be home, get out of my ridiculous outfit and put the evening behind me. The very worst of it all was the nagging realization that part of me – a very small rebellious part, it must be said – had been excited by the kiss. My first proper kiss. Syd had once pecked me on the lips but that had not really counted. Of course, I was revolted by Billy – he was more toad than prince – but the kiss felt somehow . . . dangerous.

  Perhaps I should stop being so candid, Reader. You will probably be thinking all sorts of terrible things about me now I’ve admitted this much. But I’ve never liked the safe or the conventional. And it’s not that I’m in love with Billy or anything – grant me some taste, please! But the experience had been – how can I put it? – illuminating.

  On arrival at Boxton near midnight, Frank foiled my attempt to slink off unchallenged. He took my arm.

  ‘I want a word with you.’

  Mr Dixon passed us in the hall, casting an odd look at me. I felt my cheeks flush again, knowing I had shattered any hope I had had that I could persuade him that I was a proper lady, worthy of Frank’s friendship and trust.

  ‘It’s late, Frank. Can’t it wait?’ I replied wearily.

  ‘No, it can’t, Catherine Royal.’

  Escorting me into the library, Frank sat me down in a chair. He paced in front of the fire for a moment.

  ‘So, what have you got to say for yourself?’ he managed at last, sounding like some pompous father from a Fanny Burney novel.

  ‘Me? Say? Nothing. It was you who wanted to talk to me, remember, Frank?’

  ‘I hope you realize you’ve disgraced yourself – and my family – by kissing that man like that in public.’

  I felt a surge of anger. ‘Look, my lord, it was him kissing me!’

  ‘Well, it looked to me as if you were both enjoying yourselves.’

  ‘Frank!’

  ‘I don’t understand you, Cat. I thought you hated him.’

  ‘I do, but –’

  Frank waved his hand dismissively. ‘It doesn’t matter. I just want you to understand that kissing is not appropriate behaviour for a lady.’

  How dare he preach to me!

  ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Frank, but I’m not a lady. I’m a foundling of dubious reputation, apparently. Didn’t you see how everyone snubbed me? Billy was the only person who came near me all evening. The rest of you were a load of arrogant prigs with pokers up the –’

  ‘Now don’t change the subject, Cat.’

  ‘I’m not changing the subject; I’m trying to tell you what happened. You all think you’re too good for the likes of me, and perhaps you are.’ Oh Lord, he was the Earl of Arden for heaven’s sake. He really was above me. I swallowed a sob and ploughed on. ‘But at least Billy, for whatever twisted reason of his own, deigned to ask me to dance. Even you – one of my best friends – couldn’t humble yourself to do that, could you?’

  ‘What?’ Frank was confused that his accusation of me had somehow returned as criticism of him. ‘I didn’t . . . you can’t think I failed to ask you to dance because I don’t respect you?’

  ‘Well, do you respect me?’

  ‘Yes, of course!’

  ‘I don’t believe you. You’ve already said you were ashamed of me. Anyway, Lord Francis, yes, I admit that I danced with Billy Shepherd, but only because I wanted him to look stupid. But, do you know something? He didn’t. He did us street people credit. Then he followed me out of the ballroom and . . . and kissed me.’ I paused, remembering rather too vividly the sensation of Billy’s lips on mine. Frank looked so horrified that I felt an urge to punish him for his prudishness. ‘In fact, you are right: I quite liked it. And now I’m off to bed, if you don’t mind. No need to fret about the family honour because I’m packing my bags and heading back to London. I won’t be around to embarrass you with my vulgar ways any longer.’

  And then I flounced from the room, something my new gown allowed me to do very well, leaving Frank gaping by the fire.

  You may be assured, Reader, that I had the decency, when preparing for bed, to take myself to task. It was a low trick to turn my behaviour into Frank’s fault. And, I know, I know, dangerous is bad. All the novels I’ve ever read tell me that – just look at Clarissa and Lovelace, Pamela and Mr B, Joseph Andrews and Lady Booby. One slightly enjoyable kiss does not change the fact that Billy Shepherd kills, terrorizes and exploits people for a living.

  It was only when I had blown out my candle that it struck me that my wish had come true: I had met the man of my dreams at the ball. Unfortunately, no one had warned me that he would be the stuff of nightmares.

  1 For throat-cutting attempts, please see The Diamond of Drury Lane and Den of Thieves; for life-saving, I refer you to Cat among the Pigeons, all published by that nice Mr Egmont.

  SCENE 2 – PRESS GANG

  I did not feel brave enough to face Frank at breakfast so I took an early walk in the shrubbery. Not a good idea in December as everything was damp and cold. Sandy paths snaked through dark avenues of yew, netted with dewy spider’s webs. From time to time, I caught a glimpse of Boxton House at the end of a hedge-corridor, framed like some magnificent palace painted by our set designer, De Loutherbourg, on a backdrop at Drury Lane, the lines of yew giving the trompe l’oeil illusion of depth. Only here, of course, in Frank’s world, the fairy palace was real and not a canvas that could be rolled up and put in store. I retreated into a dank summer house to shiver and indulge my fit of melancholy homesickness.

  ‘Cat?’ It was Pedro. He was searching the garden for me. I stepped out on to the path and waved to him. ‘What on earth are you doing in this dismal place?’ he asked as he approached.

  ‘Being dismal, of course.’

  ‘So I take it last night wasn’t a success?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say it was totally wasted – I met one of your admirers. He
sends his regards.’

  ‘Oh?’ Pedro glowed with pleasure. ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Sam Otoba.’

  ‘An African brother? Where did you meet him?’

  ‘In the hat room.’ I plucked a berry from a spray of holly and flicked it on to the ground.

  Pedro turned me to look at him. ‘And what were you doing in there?’

  I cracked. ‘Oh, Pedro, it was awful. Everyone knew where I came from and none of them wanted anything to do with me. The only person who talked to me was Billy Shepherd –’

  ‘Shepherd? What was he doing there?’

  ‘Lord knows. Anyway, it all went horribly wrong when he kissed me –’

  ‘He what?’

  ‘And Frank walked in upon us. He thinks I . . . well, I’m not sure what he thinks, but it’s not good.’

  ‘Oh, Cat, you silly goose!’

  ‘Now, don’t you start, Pedro! I couldn’t bear it. Anyway, I’ve said I’ll go back to London.’

  ‘But you’ve nowhere to go!’

  I brushed aside this technicality: the dramatic gesture seemed fitting. ‘I can’t face Frank and Mr Dixon again.’

  ‘What’s Dixon got to do with it?’

  ‘He saw it all too.’

  Pedro smiled.

  ‘Don’t – this is serious!’

  ‘What? A stolen kiss? Hardly.’

  ‘It is – I’m a disgrace, according to Frank.’

  Pedro put his arm around my shoulders. ‘Look, Frank is a fine person in many respects but we both know he can be a fool. He was probably just jealous.’

  ‘Jealous!’ This was getting worse and worse.

  ‘Oh, Cat, you’re always so hard on yourself. You’re funny, brave, pretty – of course Shepherd wanted to kiss you: he’d be a fool not to take the chance. It’s nothing.’ He waved it away with an elegant gesture.

  I sighed, feeling the weight begin to drop from my shoulders by Pedro’s practical attitude to the matter. I straightened up. He was right: I hadn’t done anything unforgivable. I’d just been caught unprepared, out of my depth.