He ruffled my hair affectionately. ‘In your heart of hearts, you know you can’t do that, Catkin. You can’t keep me safe, even in Drury Lane. Anyway, I’m sure we’ll see each other again, either here or in America. It may take a few years, but it will happen. Perhaps then you’ll be a world-famous writer on a tour of England’s former colonies and I’ll have to queue for your autograph. You’ll see this shabby old man in front of you holding out your bestseller and he’ll remind you of someone you once knew.’
I didn’t like this picture very much. ‘No, that’s not how it’ll be. I’ll turn up in Philadelphia and they’ll be holding an exhibition in your honour: the man who changed the course of history . . . the man who brought the crowned heads of Europe to their knees! You’ll drive past me in a coach and four and all the crowd will cheer. Next thing you’ll be elected president!’
I had been intending to cheer him up but my words had the opposite effect.
‘Hardly. I don’t think a renegade lord will suit the taste of Americans. They like home-grown heroes.’ He sighed, looking down at his ink-stained fingernails. ‘I don’t fit in anywhere, Catkin . . . not in my father’s house, not here, not in America.’
His melancholy mood was infectious; I felt quite low when I returned to the Sparrow’s Nest to hide the money under my pillow. I did not undress immediately, but sat by the window looking out at the stars and thinking of Johnny’s remark about us all changing with time. Despite what he said, I didn’t need to grow up to learn that there were few constants in life. Those who cared for me never stayed around for very long . . . my mother, my father, the old prompt who taught me so much, and now Johnny. Even this, my little refuge at the top of the theatre, would not last forever. We all had to move on eventually.
A crash on the stairs below made me jump out of my skin.
‘Shut up, Meatpie!’ I heard someone hiss. ‘She’ll ’ear you.’
Billy’s gang had broken in. They were coming for me! Quickly, I threw open the window, swearing under my breath as it rattled, and clambered out on to the roof. This was a bolt-hole I retreated to when Mrs Reid was after me for some misdemeanour or other, but I had never used it on so cold a night, or when the leadings were so treacherously icy.
The door to the Sparrow’s Nest banged open and, from my vantage point crouched beneath the window, I could hear boots thumping across the floor.
‘She’s not ’ere,’ said Meatpie, tipping up the old couch I slept on.
‘But what’s this?’ said Pox-face gleefully as forty pounds worth of guineas rolled across the floor. I cursed them as I heard them scrabble to collect the money. ‘I didn’t know the pussycat was so rich.’
‘Ha, ha, ha! She’s not now,’ said Meatpie with his stupid slow laugh.
They continued to up-end clothes presses and overturn rails of costumes in their hunt for me.
‘’Ere, Kitty-kitty!’ crowed Pox-face, ‘Come to Daddy. We’ve someone ’oo wants you!’
I crouched low on the ledge, shivering, praying that they would not think to look out of the window.
‘It’s no good. She’s not ’ere,’ said Meatpie at last.
‘But at least the pistol-man didn’t get away,’ said Pox-face. ‘Billy won’t be too cross about losing the minnow now ’e’s caught the fish. Let’s get over there before the fun starts.’
Footsteps retreated down the stairs. I paused, hardly daring to breathe. Silence. I got up slowly, taking care not to lose my footing. They’d come for the diamond. They’d got Johnny and were going to try to make him tell them where the non-existent stone was. But what could I do? Run for help? Who to? Mr Sheridan? He lived too far away. The law? But the runners would arrest Johnny rather than help him. Syd’s gang? Yes, Syd was my best hope.
I climbed back into the room. It looked as if a hurricane had swept through it. Mrs Reid was not going to be pleased. I crept to the door and listened. Nothing. In stockinged feet I padded down the wooden stairs, remembering to jump over the one second from the bottom that always creaked loudly. I could hear my heart thumping, my breath hissing between my teeth, and now the murmur of distant voices. They sounded as if they were coming from Johnny’s room. I had to pass his office to get to the stage door. Keeping to the shadows, I made my way past the Green Room and towards the hubbub. I could see several people crowded by the entrance to Johnny’s office. One turned . . . Pox-face . . . and I ducked behind the anchor propped up in the corridor. I waited a few moments and then poked my head out. They were all intent on the scene in the room. I slid along the wall, wishing I were not wearing skirts that whispered with every step I took. I was right behind Meatpie now and could smell his sweat of excitement. He leant over to say something to Pox-face, revealing Johnny trussed up on his back on the bed. Billy was sitting on the desk, twirling the pistols in his hands. Ferret-features was ransacking every drawer and chest in the place. Even Johnny’s little bundle had been ripped open and strewn across the floor.
‘No shot?’ said Billy calmly, admiring the guns. ‘So I could’ve skinned the cat then? Fortunately, it’s never too late. ’Er time will come.’
‘Makes you feel big, does it, Shepherd, threatening a girl?’ spat Johnny.
If I could’ve done, I would’ve told him not to rile Billy. The consequences were felt immediately. Billy struck his prisoner across the cheek with the handle of one of the pistols. He then turned to Meatpie.
‘Take ’im on to the stage. I can feel one of my greatest performances about to begin as I beat the whereabouts of that diamond out of ’im. There ain’t room to swing a cat in ’ere . . . though perhaps we can try that later when she turns up, eh?’ he sniggered.