‘Sorry, that ain’t good enough, Cat. You’ve always said you know everythink that goes on in that theatre, so I bet you know where it is. Anyways, I prefer it like it is now . . . you ’ere with me with no back-up. I think it’ll ’elp you make the right decision, ’elp jog your memory. If I let you go, what’s to stop you runnin’ off and telling your friend Syd about our little chat, eh?’
He was right: that was just what I had been thinking of doing. What would I have given to have Syd by my side at that moment!
‘No, I need an answer and I need it now. Then we’re goin’ to take a little stroll to the theatre and you’ll ’and it over to me. Agreed?’
What could I do? Make something up? That seemed my best option. At least I’d buy myself some more time.
‘Agreed?’ Billy said fiercely, giving a painful tug on my hair.
‘I, er, I . . .’
‘Yeah, I’m listenin’.’
The door behind us banged open and Billy spun round. As his hand was still grasping my hair, my head was pulled with him and, through tear-filled eyes, I saw a man standing framed in the doorway. His black cloak and hat were covered in snow. Both arms were held up in front of him, each hand holding a pistol, one trained on Billy, the other on Meatpie. Meatpie gave a whimper and dived behind the beer barrel.
‘In that case, I suggest you listen to me, and listen hard. Put that razor down and move away from the girl,’ Johnny said. The barrels of the pistols were rock-steady in his hands, both cocked, prepared to fire.
Billy tightened his grip on my hair, dragging me from the bench so I was on my knees in front of him. He brought the blade to my throat. I could feel its sharp edge prick my skin.
‘’Oo the ’ell are you?’ Billy growled.
Johnny gave a flick of the gun barrel, gesturing Billy to move away from me. His eyes were fixed on my captor, blazing with anger.
‘Her back-up. Let her go,’ he said menacingly.
‘Or what?’ sneered Billy. ‘I’ll cut ’er throat if you take a step nearer. ’Oo said you could come in ’ere and break up our private talk? You don’t want ’im ’ere, do ya, Cat?’ He used his grip on my hair to shake my head like a marionette.
‘You won’t find out about the diamond from her,’ said Johnny coldly. ‘She knows nothing.’
Billy pulled my head back, exposing my throat to the knife.
‘So why don’t ya tell us then? Tell us, or I’ll kill the kitten.’
‘You won’t do that,’ said Johnny, not even looking at me but keeping his eyes on Billy. Pox-face made a move on Johnny’s left, trying to creep up behind to jump him. ‘Stay where you are!’ ordered Johnny. Pox-face stood still, eyes fixed on the second gun barrel now pointing at him.
‘Oh, won’t I?’ jeered Billy. ‘Why not?’
‘Because I’ll shoot you first.’
‘You won’t do that: you might ’it the girl,’ said Billy, pressing the blade tight against my throat.
‘Take my word for it: I’m a very good shot. I won’t miss. Now, what are you going to do?’
There was silence. Then a clatter as Billy dropped the razor on the floor in front of me.
‘Very sensible,’ said Johnny. ‘Now let her go.’
Furious, Billy released his grip on my hair and kicked me away from him, sending me sprawling on to the floor so that I landed on top of the razor. I felt it cut into my arm.
‘One more trick like that and I’ll blast you to hell,’ said Johnny fiercely. ‘Get up, Cat, and come over here.’
I scrambled to my feet, cradling my bleeding arm, and stumbled past Johnny out of that hateful place.
‘Now understand this,’ I heard him telling them. ‘I’m going to escort the young lady home. If I spot so much as a whisker of any of you following us, I’ll fire without warning.’ With a final look at each of them, he ducked out of the room, slamming the door so violently it made the sign creak on its hinges. He then stuffed one of the pistols in his belt, seized my injured arm and began to run.
‘Come on, we must get away from here!’ he urged, setting off at a smart pace.
Not needing to be told twice, I ran after him, though hampered by slipping several times on the icy cobbles. Only Johnny’s firm grip on my arm stopped me falling to the ground. I was too numb to think of the pain. Pale faces appeared in dark doorways, like ghosts rising from tombs. They watched us pass in eerie silence as the snow fluttered down in frozen tears. Suddenly, a scrawny woman darted forward and made a grab for my shawl. I let it go, leaving it hanging like a tattered flag in her hands.
We turned a corner into a busy thoroughfare of smoke-filled taverns and shabby lodging houses. A drunken Irishman stumbled out of a dark alleyway and into our path.
‘Gi’ us that!’ he shouted at Johnny, trying to pull me away.
I didn’t see exactly what Johnny did, but next thing the man was doubled up, hands clenched to his stomach, and we were running out on to St Giles High Street, and away.
‘I can’t breathe!’ I gasped, my side pierced by a stitch.
‘Forget breathing; just run!’ Johnny said with an anxious look over his shoulder.
He towed me along after him, back across Long Acre and into Bow Street. Taking a side street to avoid passing the magistrate’s house, he did not stop until we reached the stage door. Caleb was on the watch: he threw it open for us and we burst inside, collapsing as soon as we were across the threshold.
‘What ’appened to you, sir?’ asked Caleb, looking with concern at Johnny’s bloodstained hand as my rescuer bent over to regain his breath.
Johnny stared down uncomprehendingly at his palm.
‘But I’m not hurt!’ He turned to me. I was on all fours, panting and sobbing with relief. ‘It must be Cat. Let’s see.’
I raised my left arm to him: a cut, about four inches long, was oozing bright red droplets vivid against the white skin of my inner arm.
Johnny gave a low whistle. ‘Nasty! An inch lower and that would have got the vein. Here, let me take you to my office and I’ll clean it up.’
Caleb blanched as he caught sight of the blood dripping down my wrist.
‘Will she be all right?’ he asked huskily.