‘What!’ I protested. ‘I’ve been asking to join for months and months and you let him in not five minutes after meeting him. That’s not fair!’
Nick and Joe began to laugh until Syd gave them a stern look.
‘I don’t ’ave girls in my gang, Cat, as I keep tellin’ you.’
‘But you have African violinists?’
Pedro gave me a glare which implied I’d insulted his origins. I hadn’t meant it like that . . . it was the violinist bit that I’d really meant to draw Syd’s attention to.
‘Yeah, ’e’s a boy, in case you ain’t noticed.’
‘Of course I’ve noticed!’ I said stamping my foot with anger. ‘But I’m as good as any of you!’
‘No, you’re better, Cat,’ said Syd with a wink, ‘which is why I don’t want you in my gang.
‘Pedro, tell him! Tell him how I saw the Boil off for you!’
Pedro shrugged. ‘You ran away quick enough, that’s true.’
The rat! I’d done far more than that and he knew it! His words served to confirm Syd in his decision that I was not fit to number among his boys. I was sure Nick and Joe were laughing at me. I felt hot with embarrassment and anger, but Syd had dismissed my request and turned his thoughts to other matters.
‘As for Billy Boil,’ he continued, perching on the block, swinging a cleaver absent-mindedly in his right hand, ‘’E’s planning a big fight for Monday night and now I’ve got a new reason for wanting to beat ’im to a pulp. The gang’s meeting at the Rose at ten. Will you be there?’ he looked at his newest gang member.
‘Of course,’ agreed Pedro at once.
I moved quickly to dissuade him. ‘But Pedro, you’ll get in trouble again. You don’t know how nasty these fights can get!’
‘I’ll see ’e doesn’t come to grief,’ promised Syd. ‘’E’s our lucky mascot, ’e is. No other gang ’as the star of the stage in their ranks, do they now?’
‘No,’ I said shortly, ‘because all the other stars are too sensible to get involved.’
Pedro gave me a dig in the ribs. ‘Don’t fret. I’m not afraid of a beating. And if you make sure everyone sees that you are safely tucked up in bed, then you’ll not be held to blame for whatever happens.’
‘Perhaps,’ I grumbled resentfully, ‘but I wouldn’t put it past Mrs Reid to find some way of making it my fault.’
Syd chuckled. ‘Well, I’ll ’ave a word with ’er then.’ He swung the cleaver in a menacing fashion. ‘Make ’er see sense.’
‘Oh, you’re both hopeless!’ I exclaimed as Pedro, Nick and Joe fell about laughing.
Syd, who I knew would be the last person to threaten a lady, threw the cleaver aside with a clatter and stood up. ‘I must go. I ’ave my trainin’ this afternoon. You’ll come and see me in my boxin’ match, won’t you, Cat?’
I nodded, though feeling very reluctant. I was not eager to watch two grown boys beating each other up for money, particularly when one was my good friend. ‘Sunday morning, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right, in Marylebone Fields. You’ll ’ave to dress as a boy like last time.’
‘Can I come?’ asked Pedro eagerly.
‘Of course, Prince. all the gang’s goin’ to be there. You can look after Cat for me.’
As if I couldn’t look after myself!
‘Who are you fighting?’ I asked, trying not to show them how angry I still was. They’d only put it down to me being a moody girl if I did and laugh about it when I’d gone.
A worried frown passed across Syd’s face for a moment. ‘The Camden Crusher.’
‘Is he good?’
‘Not as good as me,’ Syd said proudly, flexing his muscles and rolling his bull-sized neck to warm up. ‘I’ll set ’im to rights, you’ll see.’ He rocked lightly from foot to foot, making a few practice punches at the air.
‘I hope so, Syd. Better that than having the surgeon set you to rights afterwards.’
‘Should we knock at the front door or use the tradesman’s entrance?’ I asked Pedro nervously, clutching my manuscript under my arm.
We both looked up at the tall sandstone house rising four floors above us. The large windows were all lit, shining out into the cold January evening in an opulent display, telling the world that money was no object as far as candles were concerned. An imposing flight of six marble stairs ran up to the black front door. The knocker . . . a brass dragon’s head . . . gleamed balefully at us. To our right, partially hidden by the spiked iron railings was a mean, narrow staircase that ran down to the lower floors: the tradesman’s entrance.
Pedro looked back at the front door. ‘We’re not bidden to the kitchen; we’re here to see the family.’ He mounted the steps before his courage failed, seized the knocker and thumped it twice. Almost immediately, the door swung open and a white-wigged, liveried servant stood there, looking down his long nose at us.
‘Yes?’ he said dubiously, holding out his hand for a message.
‘We’re from Drury Lane. Lady Elizabeth is expecting us,’ said Pedro, ignoring the outstretched hand and making to step inside.
‘I doubt that very much,’ said the footman with a sardonic smile, blocking his way.
‘We’re here for the tea party,’ I added boldly, annoyed by the man’s supercilious attitude. ‘If you don’t believe us, why don’t you ask her?’
Perhaps our confidence made him think better of shutting the door in our faces. ‘Wait here,’ he ordered. He turned to another footman standing in the hall. ‘Watch them,’ he told his colleague. ‘See that they don’t touch anything.’ He then strode swiftly up the red-carpeted stairs.
We stood under the hawkish gaze of the second servant, waiting for our fate to be decided. Before long, the footman returned and reluctantly opened the door wide enough to allow us in.
‘Apparently, you are expected,’ he said with ill grace. ‘Would you like to leave your cloak here, miss?’