‘Not much further,’ he said, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. He had a feverish look: his cheeks were flushed and his eyes unnaturally bright. ‘’E’s been carried into the King’s ’Ead.’
He set off again and darted down a side street into an even darker courtyard. The stench of overflowing drains was unbearable and I had to force myself to follow him. I shuddered as I nearly stepped on a dead rat lying stiff in the roadway. A mangy cat with one eye and half a tail slunk past, disappearing into a crack in the wall of a boarded-up house. The boy ducked into a low doorway with a creaking sign overhead. A crude painting of Charles I, holding his severed head under one arm, swung above the entrance, snow resting like a funeral wreath on the picture. I dashed inside. Expecting to see Pedro lying in a pile of bloody rags, perhaps already dead, I found the taproom empty. There was only a small fire in the grate, a table and bench, an untended barrel of beer.
Once across the threshold, I had a very bad feeling about the place. The feverish boy had disappeared. Every instinct was screaming that, Pedro or no Pedro, it was time to run for it. I turned to leave but at that moment a customer stepped into the King’s Head and shut the door firmly behind him, shaking the snow off his hat. Billy Shepherd. My heart sank to my boots. Footsteps came from the back room and Ferret-features, Pox-face and Meatpie Matt lumbered in, all looking mightily pleased with themselves.
‘Delighted you could make it, Cat,’ said Billy with menacing politeness as he gestured for me to take a seat on the bench. I remained standing, snow melting on my shawl and dripping to the floor.
‘Where’s Pedro?’ I asked bleakly. ‘What’ve you done with him?’
‘I’ve no idea where Blackie is, Cat,’ said Billy with a laugh. ‘’E’s probably in Covent Garden waitin’ for the fight . . . the fight they all thought was goin’ to ’appen. You see, I ’ad to think up a little distraction so I could get you out of Drury Lane. It was pretty clever, don’t you think? You all fell for it ’ook, line and sinker.’
I felt sick. It was a trap. There was no Pedro in his death throes, no big fight in the piazza, just stupid old me stuck with my enemy in a place where anything could happen. And I mean anything: they could murder me here and now and no one in St Giles would turn a hair. If I wanted to live, this was no time to annoy Billy. I sat down.
‘So, ’ow do you like my centre of operations?’ He gestured round the squalid room. ‘I’m thinkin’ of branchin’ out from the market, takin’ a piece of the Rookeries under my wing. You’re privileged: you’re the first outsider to see my ’eadquarters. What’ya think?’
‘It’s very, er, very nice,’ I said, my voice shaking slightly.
In fact, it was cold, foul and damp. I could see why a rat like Billy would be attracted to it.
He smiled at me, displaying his rotten teeth like gravestones in his ugly mouth. He reached forward to brush the snow from my hair. I tried not to flinch. He was testing me, looking for an excuse to hurt me as I knew he so badly wanted to do. I’d insulted him by giving him a nickname; I’d humiliated him in front of his gang; I had twice offended his ‘honour’ and I was to pay for it.
‘Now, Cat, about our little discussion yesterday.’ He moved to stand behind me out of sight, but I could see Ferret-features grinning over my head at him, anticipating what was to come. ‘It didn’t quite end ’ow I’d like. You see, I know that you know somethink . . . somethink that I want to know very much.’
This wasn’t quite what I expected.
‘Oh?’ I asked. ‘What’s that?’ Perhaps I could bargain my way to safety.
‘The diamond.’ Billy rested his hands on my shoulders, one finger caressing my neck. ‘If you tell me where I can find it, I’ll let you return ’ome. In fact, even better than that, I’ll let you get it for me and I’ll buy you a new dress for your trouble.’ Ferret-features was now smirking at my street-stained woollen gown. ‘I can’t say fairer than that, can I?’
‘Diamond? What diamond?’ I spluttered. How had he heard about that?
‘Come now, Cat, you’re not the only person to ’ang round the stage door. You were seen. We know you know.’
‘But I don’t!’ I protested.
There was a grating noise of metal on metal and I felt a cold blade against my neck.
‘Do you know what my family does for a livin’, Cat?’ he asked casually.
Ferret-features stared at the knife at my neck like a dog waiting for a bone.
‘No,’ I said, trying not to move.
‘We’re barbers . . . ’andy with the razor. Now you think about that while you remember where Mr S. put that diamond.’
I was shaking with terror. I really didn’t know, but if I told him that he’d probably just cut my throat and have done with me.
‘Billy, please!’
‘Not convinced yet, Cat? Now, ’ow’d you like it done? Cropped? Or like an Injun Mohican?’ There was a sharp jerk on my head and a lock of red hair fluttered on to the table. Billy caught it up with his left hand and pocketed it.
‘A keepsake,’ he said calmly. ‘Something for me to remember your pretty curls by. Wot’ya think, Meatpie? Should fetch a decent price at the wig makers, don’t ya think? Shame red’s not the fashion.’
Meatpie laughed dutifully, but unlike Ferret-features he had the decency to look uncomfortable.
‘Please!’ I was crying now, tears rolling down my face as I sat rigid, trying not to move, though every instinct in my body was begging to make a dash for the door. ‘I really don’t know where the diamond is. But I’ll look for you . . . I will. I promise.’
Billy gave a tug on another strand of hair.