‘But I still need a cloak – something to hide me from curious eyes.’
‘My guess is,’ said Syd, rubbing his chin, ‘that’s what this is all about. ’E knows you’re in trouble and wants a chance to crow.’
Frank handed me his spare cloak.
‘You may be right,’ I said, throwing it on and pulling up the hood. ‘And if I were him, I’d probably want the chance myself, seeing how we parted on such good terms when last we met.’
Syd’s boys were lounging outside the Pantheon, waiting for their leader. The gang had grown since I last saw it gathered in one place. The ranks had been swelled by a score of heavily built, large-fisted individuals – chums from the boxing ring, Syd explained. I wondered how many of them had pledged their allegiance to my friend after being floored by his formidable right hook – quite a few from the evidence of their squashed noses.
Syd gave them a brief inspection. They were all turned out in their best as if ready for a night on the town. Syd brushed off the lapels of his own claret jacket – a new purchase in honour of the occasion, I guessed. Leading a gang was all about commanding respect. Syd did not want to fall short in his boys’ eyes when meeting his rival. Though from the sound of it, Billy Shepherd was promoting himself into another league altogether, far from his roots in the small beer of controlling a market. Syd had been made the uncrowned king of Covent Garden because he was well liked by his fellow shopkeepers and stall-holders and trusted to exercise his own brand of rough justice in a reasonably fair manner. Billy had always been more interested in what he could get for himself and had been trusted by no one.
Nick, Syd’s second in command, greeted me warmly before turning to Syd.
‘The Boil’s got a private room for the meetin’. We’re to go in by the side entrance.’
This was just as well. I doubted that the footmen of the Pantheon would welcome a crowd of burly lads breaking in upon the night’s entertainment. From the strains of the orchestra coming out of the grand pillared entrance, there appeared to be a ball or concert in progress.
‘Right you are. Fall in, lads,’ said Syd. I found myself surrounded by some of the biggest boys in the gang, sandwiched between them so that I was almost carried along off my feet. Syd had been serious in his promise to keep me safe.
The doorman let in the Butcher’s Boys without a word, indicating that we should proceed up the carpeted stairs to the plush hall above. Bright candles in wall brackets lit our way, reflected from the tarnished gilt mirrors that covered the walls. It reminded me a little of the corridors of Drury Lane and I felt a pang of regret that I wasn’t going home tonight. We marched up, like an invading army, and arrived outside a white-painted double door. Syd thumped once and the doors were thrown open. In spite of himself, he hesitated on the threshold, taken aback by what he saw before him. The room was like an enormous box in the theatre, except it looked out on a ballroom filled with couples, brilliant as butterflies, all dancing to the music of a full orchestra on a stage at the far end. The ballroom was circular with an ornate painted ceiling – the largest dome I’d seen outside of St Paul’s. Rather than being deafened by the noise of the instruments, we heard the music as if from a great distance, thanks to the barrier provided by the glass-panelled doors that opened out on to a balcony.
‘Lovely, ain’t it?’ said Billy Shepherd, stepping forward, his hand outstretched to Syd. He had filled out since I last saw him; he looked both older and more impressive. He wore a shiny purple jacket like a beetle’s shell over immaculate white breeches. His dark hair was fashionably styled, tied back in a black bow, but his teeth were as rotten as ever and I was pleased to see that his boil had swelled on the end of his nose, despite his best efforts to improve his appearance. At eighteen, he was now in his prime. But if his rise had been meteoric, his fall was likely to be as swift. Gang leaders of his sort did not expect to live much beyond twenty unless they were extraordinarily lucky – if the law didn’t get them, a rival would. In the poorer streets where I come from, everyone knows that if you make it to twenty-five, you’re fortunate – thirty is positively ancient.
Syd looked at the hand Shepherd held out to him as if it were a pound of rotten offal before reluctantly shaking it. I glanced round quickly and counted twenty of Shepherd’s boys, along with a few girls in gaudy dresses, who were lounging against the walls. We were the stronger party by far.
‘Very pretty, Shepherd,’ said Syd with the closest thing to a sneer I had ever heard him use.
‘You see, Fletcher, I’ve gone up in the world since we last met.’ With evident self-satisfaction, Billy gestured to his new empire.
‘He means up from louse to cockroach, I suppose,’ I said in a stage whisper, causing a splutter of laughter from my end of the room.
Shepherd spun round quickly and spotted me in the middle of my guard. He gave me his old familiar crocodile grin. ‘So you did bring Cat after all. That’s good. I was beginning to fear that I was goin’ to ’ave to with’old my information. But we can’t ’ave a lady standin’ while we sit, can we, Fletcher? Won’t you join us?’ He gestured to a table with three chairs by the glass doors, set ready with wine glasses and a decanter. I looked to Syd, who gave me a nod, so I stepped forward to join them. Shepherd pulled out a chair with a flourish and waited for me to sit down. I did so, keeping my cloak wrapped tight around me. ‘Wine?’ Billy asked. ‘I’ll water it down for the little ’un if she can’t take the strong stuff yet.’