‘What?’
‘Revenge, Cat. Charlie and I have been recruiting chaps of the right sort to take our revenge on the planters’ boys for their attack on you. Mouthy Southey and the others are all up for it, just waiting for the opportune moment – and this is it. Give me five minutes and there’ll be a distraction such as you’ve never seen before.’
‘Frank, you’re not to get in trouble for my sake.’
‘Oh, you’re a fine one to speak, Miss Never-get-into-any-trouble-for-a-friend Royal.’
I grinned. ‘All right. Be quick.’
He was about to go but turned back and kissed my hand gallantly, signalling that a certain formality had returned to his treatment of me now I was no longer a schoolboy.
‘It’s been a privilege to share rooms with Tom Cat. Don’t disappear so entirely that we don’t know where you are, will you?’
‘Of course not. Now off you go!’ I pushed him out the door.
Standing by the window, I watched Frank moving from boy to boy in the Dean’s Yard. It was like watching a ripple pass across a pool as the message spread. Then, so quickly it was hard to see what started it, a scuffle broke out in one corner. Richmond was going hammer and tongs with Frank’s friend, Mouthy Southey. The fight spread like wildfire as planter boys leapt to Richmond’s defence, only to find themselves beset by the pro-abolition boys. I was pleased to see that Richmond was getting a good pasting and Fatty Ingels was buried under several burly bodies. Dr Vincent then strode out of his rooms, swishing his cane at anyone in reach, and shouting for order. Time for me to go.
I crept down the stairs and out into the quad. The noise of stamping, yelling and punching was impressive – not unlike one of Syd’s boxing matches. Keeping close to the wall, I walked swiftly towards the lodge, carrying the coal scuttle to hide my bundle. I thought I had almost made it to safety when I came face to face with the Prince of Wales, Mr Sheridan and Mr Castleton proceeding at the double towards the disturbance.
‘A scrap, eh what?’ chuckled the Prince. ‘Excellent – like to see a bit of boyish high spirits. Makes men of them, doesn’t it, Sherry?’
Mr Sheridan recognized me instantly; Mr Castleton looked as though he was trying to place me. My patron came to my rescue.
‘Very true, your highness. Mr Castleton, is that not a most venerable oak over there? How old is it, would you say?’ He pointed to the other side of the yard with his cane. ‘I bet it’s seen more than its fair share of battles.’
Mr Castleton tore his gaze from me to reply. The prince had never even noticed the maid in his path. I bobbed a curtsey but the heir to the throne marched straight by, heading for the oak.
Fortunately, the porter had left his post to help restore order in the yard. I slipped out through the postern and trotted as fast as I could in my clumsy shoes towards Westminster Bridge. It was only when I had crossed the Thames and was heading south-west across the scrubby fields of Lambeth that I felt able to breathe freely. I had done it: I’d escaped and no one at Westminster School would ever know what happened to Thomas Bennington-Smythe. I’d probably become a school legend as the boy who tricked his way to free food and lodging for several weeks, but my true identity would remain a secret.
The days are very short at this time of year so it was already dusk as I made my escape. Highwaymen are still occasionally to be met with on the roads out of London, particularly in the wilder parts such as the tenter grounds of Lambeth where only laundresses, tanners and huntsmen choose to come. I wouldn’t be able to reach my destination safely on foot at night and I did not have the funds to travel by carriage. My best bet was to find shelter and continue at first light.
A chilly wind blew over the empty flats along the riverbank. A bird called forlornly from a thicket. Ice crunched underfoot as my clogs sunk through the surface into a foul-smelling rut full of water. Clutching my bundle to me for comfort, I had the weirdest sensation of being watched, but each time I turned, I saw no one on the deserted path I’d taken. My instincts told me to get out of sight quickly.
Finding an abandoned wash house, I let myself in. From the scuffling in a corner, I guessed that other creatures had sought this shelter from the cold, but I did not begrudge them as long as they did not disturb me. I was more concerned that other humans might take refuge here. I sat with my back to the old stove and shivered, wishing it would light again to give me some warmth. As the temperatures dropped, I thought longingly of my warm berth in the Sparrow’s Nest and wished I had thought to steal a blanket from Frank.
I woke up in the middle of the night with a start as something cracked like a pistol shot.
‘Donna fret, lassie,’ said a husky voice. ‘I just makin’ up the fire.’
Light flickered on the ceiling from a small blaze in the centre of the wash house floor, smoke finding its way out through the numerous slipped tiles above. Crouched over it was a wrinkled old woman with one tooth and a pair of bright eyes. She had a tattered shawl over her head and straw wrapped around her feet for warmth. I felt for my bundle, but it lay exactly where I’d left it.
‘Nae one’s robbed you,’ she laughed, ‘though they might’ve if I hadna been here. Twae laddies came by, but I told them to gae away.’
I felt a little ashamed that I’d suspected her so quickly. ‘Thank you. I’m really grateful. It’s all I’ve got.’
‘Aye,’ the old woman said, ‘I thought as much. You mun be down on your luck if you end up in auld Jean’s washhouse.’
‘This is yours?’
She nodded. ‘The best laundry in London until I could nae lift the water and heat the stove. Auld age is a cruel thing when a body’s no bairns to look after them.