While I spoke, I could see Pedro locking away the raw pain he had let me glimpse as he remembered his captivity.
‘Your problem, Cat, is that you latch on to other people too trustingly.’ He shoved a ledger back on the shelf as if he were ramming a cannonball home. ‘Do you think Mr Sheridan cares a damn about you? Of course he doesn’t. You’re so starved of affection that you think if someone pats you on the head, they must be your friend. Take it from me that pats all too often precede blows. You’ve got to learn to look after number one.’
‘Like you, you mean.’
‘Like me.’
‘But I do trust my friends. I owe Mr Sheridan everything.’
‘It doesn’t matter in any case,’ he said dismissively, giving the room a last inspection to check it appeared undisturbed. ‘It’s not here. I’ve been through the room three times now and found nothing.’
‘Three times!’ I protested.
‘While you were out of the way, burning the midnight oil on your stories of past adventures, Cat,’ he said with an ironic grin, ‘I was thinking of the future.’
‘But Pedro,’ I implored him, ‘promise me you won’t risk it again! If you’re caught, they’ll hang you for certain.’
‘I promise I won’t come here . . . but only because I’m wasting my time. He must have hidden it elsewhere.’
‘Pedro! I’ll have to tell!’ I felt like shaking some sense into him as he stood there so calm, so sure of himself.
‘No, you won’t.’ His brown eyes looked defiantly at me.
He was right. My loyalty to Mr Sheridan did not extend to getting a boy executed. I’d have to rely on persuasion rather than threats.
‘Please, Pedro!’
‘Don’t worry. You don’t have to know anything about it. I’ll be very discreet.’ He smiled.
‘Argh!’ I couldn’t bear his smug face any more. Why did he not listen? How could he hope to get away with so audacious a theft? I grabbed his jacket lapels. ‘Please . . . don’t . . . do . . . this!’ I gave him a thump on each word until he caught my fists. He was still grinning at me infuriatingly.
‘Sorry, Cat, it’s my chance to get out. When someone shows me the exit, I take it. And if you knew what was good for you, you’d take it too. Mr Sheridan will tire of having you as his pet cat one day and what prospects will you have then? Unless a decent man like Syd takes pity on you and marries you, where will you be in a few years? I’ll tell you: you’ll be out on the street.’
I released his jacket and put my hands over my ears, not wanting to hear this from him.
‘You’re just saying this to excuse what you’re doing,’ I said bitterly. ‘But I know it’s wrong. I’ll be all right. I’ll find some way of earning my keep . . . an honest way.’
‘You’re so na?ve, Cat.’
‘At least I’m not a thief.’
‘I’m no thief, I’m just trying to get what I’m owed!’
‘Thief!’
‘Coward!’
‘Thief!’
‘Hey, hey,’ said a man’s voice, ‘what’s all this?’ Johnny stepped into the room. ‘Why’re you calling each other names? And what are you doing here in any case?’
I looked at Pedro. The pearl earring he still wore in his ear glittered in the candlelight but he was staring at the floor, no doubt wondering if I was going to tell on him.
‘It’s nothing,’ I said. ‘We were just arguing about . . . about . . .’
‘About today,’ broke in Pedro when he realised I was not going to betray him. ‘We were angry about what happened at the boxing.’
Johnny looked dubiously at us both. ‘And you decided to have your argument in Mr Sheridan’s office?’ He leant down and picked up the weapon I had brought with me. ‘With a spear? It must be more serious than I thought.’
We both said nothing. What could we say?
‘Well, I’ll not mention it to Mr Sheridan this time, but I expect better from you both in future,’ Johnny concluded, gesturing to us to leave the room. ‘Especially you, Miss Royal. After all Mr Sheridan’s done for you, I didn’t expect you to repay him by entering his office without his permission. Perhaps his trust in you is misplaced?’
‘You don’t have to worry about that,’ said Pedro angrily. ‘Miss Royal remains his loyal servant . . . or should I say, slave?’ He turned from us both and ran off towards the stage door.
‘Johnny, I . . .’ I began, though I wasn’t sure what I was going to say in my own defence without dropping Pedro into the mire.
‘Hadn’t you better get to bed?’ Johnny said severely, showing no interest in hearing further excuses from me. ‘You’ve had a trying day: you need your sleep.’
I nodded miserably and headed for my bed, feeling terrible that I had now disappointed him twice today. Would that mean he no longer wanted to be my friend? I could sense his eyes on my back as he watched me mount the rickety stairs to the Sparrow’s Nest. When I turned at the head of the staircase to bid him goodnight, he was already walking to his own room. It was then that I noticed the brace of pistols stuck in his belt. Unlike my spear, they did not look like stage props. They were real.
The next morning, heartily sick of being frowned upon by Johnny, I was determined to find a friendly face. I took the opportunity of an errand to the other theatre in Covent Garden to call on Syd. I had come at a bad time . . . for the squeamish like me, that is . . . for he was in the process of butchering a particularly large pig. Death had already visited, but there was still much work for the butcher to do in dividing the carcass. Syd’s arms were red to the elbows in blood.
‘Ah, Cat,’ Syd said smiling at me over the pig’s snout, his face a lattice of cuts and bruises from the match. The creature grinned affably up at us . . . a silent third in our tête à tête. ‘’Ow you feelin’? ’Ow’s the ankle?’
‘Much better, thanks, Syd,’ I said hovering by the door, relieved to find that he at least did not bear me a grudge for what happened.