‘So you’re saying I’m even runtier than Richmond, aren’t you? Thanks, Frank. Remind me not to come to you for a compliment on another occasion.’
‘And you’ve never fenced before?’ asked Charlie.
I didn’t think the question even deserved an answer. I merely raised my eyebrow.
‘Of course not. Sorry.’
‘But I have watched rehearsals for stage fights.’ I neglected to mention that Pedro and I had also practised the moves afterwards when everyone had gone home.
‘Well, it’s the same principle, I expect,’ said Frank. ‘You need to learn the moves like in a dance.’
‘I can dance,’ I volunteered.
‘Then you can fence. Don’t worry. It’ll just be practice swords – blunt ones. You might even like it.’
We entered the church. Being a cloudy winter’s day outside, it was very dark in the Abbey. Little candles flickered in the side chapels like fireflies at dusk. The choir seemed a blaze of light in comparison to the rest of the pews as we shuffled forward to take our places. The choristers filed in, their scrubbed, shiny round faces floating on white ruffs. Then they began to sing and I forgot the dreary day. The singing was exquisite – so pure and penetrating. The anthem lifted me up to the carved roof and let me dance there like a butterfly in a shaft of sunlight.
‘Cat, Cat.’ The spell was broken by Frank digging me in the ribs. ‘Look, there’s Pedro.’
I turned in my seat. Standing in the side aisle, listening with critical attention to the music, was my friend. He noticed me watching him. His eyes widened for a moment, he gave a small nod, and then moved towards a side chapel. I half got up but Charlie yanked me back.
‘Stay where you are,’ he whispered. ‘The doctor will flay you if you leave the service.’
I looked to my left and saw the headmaster glaring in my direction. I bowed my head in a fit of fervent prayer.
‘And look.’ Frank nudged me again. A shifty-looking man with a red scarf had followed Pedro into the chapel. I recognized him well enough. All the runners and those in their pay were marked men in Covent Garden. Red Scarf was a familiar face, more usually to be seen worshipping at the bar of the Shakespeare Tavern than in a church such as this.
‘It’s one of the traps,’ I whispered. ‘A magistrate’s man. He’s tailing Pedro.’
‘Of course he is. Wait till the end of the service. I’ll think of something.’
From then on, no one could fault my piety. I sat with head bowed, nose in my prayer book, until the final anthem signalled the conclusion of the service.
‘Right, I’ve an idea,’ said Frank in a low voice. ‘You hang back, Cat. Charlie, are you ready for the Captain Bennington-Smythe manoeuvre?’
Charlie grinned and nodded.
‘What’s the . . .?’ But Frank was off, marching towards the magistrate’s man as he lurked in the doorway to the antechapel.
‘Captain Bennington-Smythe! What a surprise! I thought you were in Delhi with the Hussars!’ Frank cried out, arms wide open to embrace his long-lost friend. ‘Charlie, can you believe my luck? Not seen cousin Smythie for years and here he is!’
Red Scarf looked over his shoulder as the two boys bore down on him, clearly expecting to see a cavalry officer behind him. But there was no one. Frank seized the man’s hand and pumped it up and down furiously.
‘How are you, old man? Out of the Hussars now, eh? Sold your commission for a pretty penny, I’ve no doubt. Father always said it was a valuable position.’
The plain-clothes runner didn’t know what to do. His cover was blown now that half of Westminster School was staring at him.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said, tugging on his collar. ‘You’ve got me mixed up with someone else.’
‘Good one, Smythie!’ Frank roared with laughter, slapping him on the back. ‘He always did like his little joke,’ he added to Charlie. ‘You think I don’t recognize my own third cousin twice removed when I see him, eh? Come, come, you must tell me all about it. I don’t mind letting you know that I’m considering the army – Charlie too.’
‘Absolutely,’ beamed Charlie. ‘So was it really hot in India? I’ve heard tales of eggs frying on the cannon. Is that true?’
‘No – I mean I don’t know,’ blustered the man, who’d probably never been beyond Gravesend. ‘Look, you’ve made a mistake . . .’
‘You must tell us over a drink, old man,’ said Frank, remorselessly towing his ‘cousin’ away. ‘I dare say you’ve not lost your taste for a glass or two. You were always known as a capital topper.’
And ‘Cousin’ Smythie was propelled out of the Abbey doors, still protesting his ignorance of any kinship with Frank, as I slipped into the chapel. I touched Pedro on the arm.
‘What was all that?’ he asked, nodding to the door.
‘A diversion – the magistrate’s man was tailing you. Come on, let’s get out of here.’
I pulled him to his feet and we ducked into Poets’ Corner. There was a large marble tomb with weeping cherubs next to a statue of Shakespeare. I pulled Pedro with me into the space between it and the wall, comforted that we had our guardian bard keeping watch above.
‘You look different,’ said Pedro, giving my hand a squeeze.
‘And you don’t. How was the performance last night?’
‘Good. But I didn’t come here to talk about that. Oh Cat, what are we going to do about you?’
‘Nothing for the moment. I’m safe where I am.’
‘Safe? Hardly. You’ll be found out.’
‘I know, but it’ll do for now. I’m hoping Hawkins will decide he’s beaten and leave.’
Pedro shook his head. ‘You don’t know my master then. He never forgets – never forgives. I’m sorry I got you mixed up in all this.’
‘Sorry? What have you got to be sorry about? It was me who rampaged through Brook’s. I was so stupid.’
‘But you were angry and frightened – you couldn’t help it.’
‘That won’t count for anything with a judge, I’m afraid.’
‘I suppose not.’