‘Aw, ain’t you sweet.’ Billy chucked me under the chin. I batted his hand away. ‘Nah, ’e got out with only ’is nightgown – a bit singed but ’e’ll live.’ Billy’s eyes sparkled at the memory. ‘Ain’t you even a bit grateful?’
I didn’t know what to say. I wouldn’t shed tears for the end of Tweadle’s book emporium, but I didn’t like Billy’s assumption that he was master of my affairs. I now noticed that there was a pile of familiar cheap pamphlets on the window seat – Billy had made sure he got the complete set before Tweadle’s went up in smoke. He saw where my eyes were directed.
‘It seems there’s money in your stuff. I’s thinkin’ that we could put together a proper book of ’em. All you need do is rewrite a few things ’ere and there. I’d pay for it to be done all fancy, gold tooled, the works, if you like.’
‘Oh yes?’ I was now amused. ‘What exactly do you want me to rewrite?’
He took a chair opposite me. ‘Well, I ’ave me public to consider. You’ve not always been kind in your descriptions of our past dealings.’
‘You mean, like when you tried to cut my throat and when you kept Pedro locked up?’
‘That’s the ones. Ah, ’appy days!’
I’d had enough. ‘Look, Billy, I didn’t come here to bargain with you, nor to rewrite history.’
He smiled fondly at me. ‘Nah, I don’t s’pose you did. You’ve come to be asked to be let off our little arrangement, ain’t you?’
‘No, I have not.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘I’ve come to tell you I’ve fulfilled it to the letter. Here’s a piece of the Crown jewels as asked, direct from the king’s own dressing table.’
I pulled the letter opener from my pocket and threw it contemptuously on the table between us. Billy reached out and picked it up, puzzled.
‘Wot’s this?’ He prodded the crest. ‘The diamonds look real, I grant you, but I don’t want any old bit of glitter: I want the genuine article. Royal or nothing.’
‘And it is.’ It was my turn to feel smug. ‘You didn’t specify which royal family you meant when you set me the task, so I picked this up in King Louis’s palace a few weeks back. That’s his crest. So there you have it: a piece of the French Crown jewels for your collection. I’ve kept my promise. Your hold over me ends now.’ I stood up. ‘Goodbye, Billy. I hope we never meet again.’
Billy’s expression turned thunderous as his brain caught up with what I was telling him. His knuckles whitened as they clutched the handle of the knife. Time to make a quick exit.
‘Nah, you don’t, Cat.’ Billy leapt to the door and held it closed. The knife wavered between us – perhaps it had not been the best choice of gift. ‘You can’t walk out of ’ere like this!’
‘Why not?’ Anger flared up inside me. Though afraid, I knew I was in the right. I’d kept my word; by the code of the street he’d have to admit it.
‘Because . . . because I want you ’ere with me.’ He had a strange look in his eyes, half-desperate, half-threatening.
‘Sorry. I’d rather shovel horse dung for a living than stay under this roof with you. You can’t keep me here against my will.’
‘Oh, can’t I? Who says?’
‘Eleven footmen from Grosvenor Square, the Butcher’s Boys if necessary, even my old friends, the Bow Street runners, if it comes to that. Look out the window: they’re all waiting for me.’
Billy ran his fingers through his hair, eyes darting to the casement.
‘It’s come to this, ’as it?’ he said, feeling the edge of the letter opener.
I began to fear I had misjudged the situation. Was it possible he would be foolish enough to do so desperate a deed?
‘Come to what, Billy?’ I asked, not proud that my voice quavered.
‘I always said I’d ’ave to kill you. Nasty way to go, though: so blunt.’
I took a step back. ‘That’s not fair.’
‘You’ve called me many things, Cat, but I don’t remember “fair” being one of them.’
‘No, please!’ I made a dart for the window to signal that now would be the perfect moment for the footmen to earn their livery but Billy grabbed my arm. He pulled me to him, his other hand bearing the king’s knife at my throat.
I gave a sick laugh. ‘I think we’ve been here before, haven’t we?’ I could feel that he, like me, was shaking. But I wasn’t going to die begging for mercy – not from a lowlife like him. He was breaking every rule of our street code taking his revenge now, and he knew it. ‘Go on then. Don’t keep a lady waiting.’ I lifted my chin and closed my eyes.
The moment of decision seemed to stretch endlessly. Then I felt nothing but heard a clatter as a knife dropped to the floor. Billy’s pressure on my arm lessened as his head sank on my shoulder.
‘Nah, I can’t do it. You . . . you should go.’ He released his hold and I staggered away from him.
He couldn’t bring himself to kill me. That shocked me more than his threats. I didn’t know what to say to him.
‘Billy, I –’
‘Shut it, Cat. Just go.’
Not needing to be told a third time, I ran from the room, slamming the door behind me. Close to collapse, I could go no further for the moment. I grabbed on to the leering satyr for support, struggling with the gulping sobs that racked me. A minute later, I heard sounds at the door – and I was off like lightning. As I clattered down the stairs, Billy came out on to the landing.
‘I’m not finished with you yet, Cat Royal!’ he shouted after me.
‘But I’ve finished with you,’ I replied, standing by the street door. ‘Get a life, Billy, and leave mine alone.’
PHOENIX
Grosvenor Square, London
30 September, 1791
Mon cher ami, J-F,