‘You’d better drop the Miss Royal, sir,’ I said. ‘I’m a boy for the moment.’
‘In that case, you’d better call me Charlie. Can’t have you calling me “sir” the whole time.’
‘But what are we going to do about you, Cat?’ said Frank, striding up and down the hearthrug. ‘You can’t stay here, you know.’
I nodded. I had known that I couldn’t hide out at Westminster School for long but the thought of wandering the streets again was terrifying.
‘We’ve got lessons this morning,’ continued Frank. ‘Dame Clough, our house matron, will be coming in and out to clean. And Charlie’s brother is expected any moment.’
‘No need to worry about Tom. I’ve had word that he won’t be here till after Christmas now. Still not got over his bout of measles,’ said Charlie. He then turned to look at me, the flicker of an idea dawning in his eyes. ‘No, it wouldn’t work. I’m being foolish . . .’
Frank caught the tail end of the scheme before it was completely abandoned by Charlie. ‘I don’t know.’ He put the cap back on my head, inspecting me closely. ‘If she’s put in the College Dormitory we’d be stuffed, but we could say your mother wants him to sleep in the same house as you because of his delicate health. He could have your room – we could share mine. No one’s met him yet, I assume?’
‘No. Tom’s been with a tutor in Dublin for the past two years.’
‘Well, it’s possible we’d get away with it then.’
I looked from one to the other, hardly believing they were suggesting what I thought they were suggesting.
‘She – he’d have to arrive properly – in a carriage and with luggage and so on,’ said Charlie.
‘I can fix that,’ said Frank.
‘You’re both mad,’ I said. ‘I’d be found out in one second flat.’
They grinned at each other.
‘Oh, I don’t know. You underestimate your acting powers, Cat,’ said Frank. ‘I’ve seen you with Syd and the boys. It’d be fun to try, wouldn’t it?’
‘But . . .’
‘And I can’t turn you out, can I? Where would you go? You know better than me what can happen to girls on the streets. And you’re far more likely to get picked up by the runners if you’re out there. The worse that would happen to you here is that you’d be expelled.’
‘And you two as well!’
Charlie shrugged. ‘I don’t mind. I don’t like it here that much, to tell you the truth. All they seem to teach is how to bully and be bullied.’
‘And you know I never wanted to come in the first place,’ added Frank. ‘Mama won’t mind if I’m chucked out. Father would shout, but not for too long – not when he knows that I did it to help you. So you see, you’d be doing us a favour.’
‘You are both mad,’ I repeated, shaking my head. ‘Cracked. Addled. Raving. And, anyway, what happens when the real boy arrives?’
‘That’s weeks off yet. It seems to me that the most immediate problem is saving you from the runners.’ Frank whisked the cap off my head, letting my hair tumble out. ‘Sadly, I think we’ll have to sacrifice this to the cause.’
‘Yes, Tom Cats don’t sport ringlets,’ agreed Charlie.
‘Shall you be the barber or shall I?’
‘I’ll do it,’ said Charlie, taking out a pair of scissors from his desk drawer. ‘She doesn’t know me so well yet and is not likely to curse me so loudly when she sees what I’ve done.’
‘You’re not . . .’ I stammered.
‘We are.’ Frank suddenly looked serious. ‘Unless you have a better idea?’ I thought for a moment then shook my head. ‘Please, Cat, for my sake – and for Lizzie. I don’t want to visit you next at Newgate. I don’t make a very good prison visitor – I’m terrible at small talk.’
I bit my lip. What could I do, Reader? On the one hand, I could take my chances on the streets and probably end up in a cell by the evening. On the other, I could try this madcap idea which might, just might, succeed. What did I have to lose?
‘All right,’ I sighed. ‘You can cut it off.’
‘To be safe, I think we’d better cut it pretty hard,’ said Frank, taking a strand in his fingers. ‘You see, you don’t look much like a boy, Cat, even with a cap on. What’s your brother like, Charlie?’
‘Big – makings of a prizefighter.’
‘Hmm. Well, the measles have taken it out of him, that’s all I can say. Your new brother Tom will be more in the angelic chorister mould.’
I closed my eyes and tried not to think about how long it would take to grow back as the hair dropped into my lap. When Charlie finally told me to look in the mirror, I saw a tousle-haired waif staring back. Cat Royal seemed to have vanished. There wasn’t much of me at the best of times – but without my curls I was almost invisible – reduced to a pair of large, tear-filled green eyes in a pale, freckled face.
The boys looked at each other nervously. ‘What do you think?’ Charlie asked, turning to Frank.
‘Not sure. Still too damned pretty.’ They were both watching me, worried how I was going to react.
Now my hair was gone, it was too late to back out. I mentally shook myself. There I was, wallowing in self-pity again when they were trying their best to help me. I had to make more of an effort.
‘Look!’ I said, throwing off the blanket and displaying my scraped elbows and hands. ‘My knees are the same. Is that more boyish for you?’ I turned back to the mirror, ruffled my hair so that it stuck up at the front and stuck out my tongue at the reflection. ‘Thomas Hengrave, pleased to meet you.’
Charlie laughed, his relief palpable. He strode over and shook my hand. ‘Pleased to meet you too, little brother. Now, let’s get you some decent clothes and set this charade rolling.’