I could tell we were arriving in Billingsgate by the smell. The market lay quiet this time of night – the fishwives would only return to gut the catch and screech at each other when the boats came in early in the morning. The reek of fish forced itself into our lungs. Miss Fortitude put her handkerchief to her nose; the rest of us sat stoically, trying not to take deep breaths.
The cab could go no further. The jarvey pulled the horse to a standstill. The wharves were dark. Stacks of boxes stood on the quayside, creating a confusing labyrinth of passageways. I wondered how I was going to find the Billingsgate gang in all of this.
‘What are you going to do, Sister Catherine?’ asked Miss Miller, for the first time looking to me for leadership. She must have been feeling very out of her depth to relinquish command; to tell the truth, I felt pretty much in over my head too.
‘There must be someone around – a night watchman at least,’ I said with more confidence than I felt. I knew from watching Mr Kemble that even when you realized you were appearing in a play destined to be a flop, you had to soldier on as if it were the greatest show on earth in order to bring the rest of the cast with you. ‘We should get out and look. Tell the jarvey to wait here for us – we might need to make a fast retreat if we run into trouble.’
Standing on the cold pavement while Miss Miller passed on this instruction I looked about, trying to find some clue to help me. The crates all bore ice toppings an inch deep. The passageways were under drifts of untouched snow. All except one. The snow had been beaten flat by the passage of boots – some people had passed this way recently. That was enough for me.
‘Follow me,’ I told my companions.
With only the swish of our skirts to give away our presence, we trod lightly down the path between the stacks of crates. The trail led us on to the quayside. A rim of ice like broken glass had formed on the water’s edge. The Thames spread out before us, inky black except where the surface reflected the glitter of lights from the many vessels at anchor. Somewhere in the distance, laughter and music floated out of the open door of a tavern. From a nearby ship, a piper played a sad, strange melody, accompanied by the soft heartbeat of a drum. At the far end of the quay, a brazier burned, the shadow of a man flickered beside it.
‘That might be the watchman,’ I said without too much hope. I didn’t like this place – it should be full of people and life, not dark and creepy as it was now.
‘We’re with thee, Cat,’ said Miss Prudence.
‘And the Lord is with us,’ added Miss Miller.
With this encouragement, I set off towards the man warming his hands by the brazier.
When we were within earshot, I called out, ‘Excuse me, sir, can you spare me a moment?’
He turned slowly, tipping his hat on to the back of his head, and grinned.
‘Course I can, Cat. I’ve been waitin’ for you.’
Billy Shepherd – of course.
‘Who’s this young man, Sister Catherine?’ asked Miss Miller. ‘Is he a friend of thine?’
I was momentarily lost for words. My mind was in a whirl as I tried to work out what his presence here meant.
‘Well, lady,’ said Shepherd in an unusually polite tone for him, ‘you could say that. Cat and I go back a long way. We know each other well. She knew what I’d done, and I knew what she’d do. No way would she tumble for the boy trick twice. And it’s worked out far better than even I ’oped with ’er turnin’ up before the bone’ead boxer and ’is ’eavy mob.’
‘Boy trick? What hast thou done?’ Miss Miller was understandably confused. ‘Art thou one of the Billingsgate boys we are looking for?’
Time to disabuse my companions. ‘No, Miss Miller, he’s not. He’s Billy Shepherd, Pedro’s gaoler,’ I explained, glaring at him.
‘Aw, Cat, I wouldn’t put it like that. I provided Blackie with temporary accommodation of the ’ighest standard for a small remuneration.’ He dug into the brazier with a shovel and poured something out on to his gloved hand. ‘Chestnut anyone?’
‘You know where you can shove that chestnut, Boil,’ I hissed, feeling a familiar surge of anger. He was loving this – every minute of my bewilderment.
‘Sister Catherine!’ exclaimed Miss Miller.
‘Don’t fret, lady,’ laughed Shepherd. ‘I’m used to her tongue. She only says these things ’cos she likes me so much.’
I ignored them both. ‘Just tell me where Pedro is.’
‘No.’ He cracked the chestnut shell in his fist and popped the sweet white nut into his mouth, watching me all the while.
‘Tell me!’ I yelled at him, stamping my foot. Every minute he wasted could mean that Pedro’s ship had time to set sail. ‘Tell me or I’ll –’
‘Or you’ll do what, Cat?’ grinned Billy. ‘Sure you don’t want a nut? They’re very good. Nicked them meself on me way ’ere – just for old times’ sake, to keep me ’and in.’
I couldn’t think what I’d do, except perhaps self-destruct in an explosion of pure temper. Fortunately, my companions were not so clueless.
‘Or she’ll pray for you,’ said Miss Miller, stepping in front of me. ‘Come on, sisters, let us lay our hands on our errant brother and bring him to the Lord.’ The three Miss Millers swooped on Billy before he had time to react and hooked him with their tiny fists.
‘Oi! Get off!’ protested Billy. It wasn’t his style to lower himself to beat off three elderly ladies. Besides, the Miss Millers’ grip was surprisingly tenacious after all those years of needle-work and letter-writing.
‘Oh, Father, lookest Thou on this miserable sinner, William Shepherd. Change his heart, Oh Lord. Make him obedient to Your Will,’ intoned Miss Miller.
‘Amen,’ replied her sisters.
‘Cleanse him with hyssop so that he may repent and lead a new life to Thy Glory,’ trilled Miss Prudence.